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FRANK R. STOCKTON 

Volume VII 

THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 














kw&d $\k\ur w\ t uMj sfc'-vtt&T 

.MC£V\k5\. .0 ftAVOTAAA ^ 'fcmmrtk & woyV 


There she was, with her beautiful white hand already extended 
From a drawing by FLETCHER C. RANSOM . 




THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 
FRANK R. STOCKTON 

THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 



' & l^EYf'YORK 
t CHARLES <SCRIRNER’S SONS 
1900 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED 

M&rary of Cob 

of tie 

FER 27 1900 
Register of Copyrights, 


Y7--b 

,<b%^ 

3 



Copyright, 1891, 1899, 1900, by 
Frank R. Stockton 


J FIRST COPY, 

0 ; 

'’VflX,. O 9 % 


THE DEVINNE PRE88. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER ' PAGE 

i My Grandmother and I ... 3 

ii Relating to my Year in Europe . 6 

hi The Modern Use of the Human Ear 12 
iy I Obtain a Listener ... 15 

y Chester Walkirk . . . .19 

yi My Understudy . . . . 23 

yii My Book 27 

yiii The Malarial Adjunct ... 35 

ix Walkirk’s Idea 42 

x The Plan of Seclusion ... 46 

xi My Hun 50 

xii Eza 56 

xiii My Friend Yespa 61 

xiy I Fayor Permanency in Office . 72 

xy How we Went back to Genoa . . 77 

xyi I Run upon a Sand-bar ... 83 

xyii Regarding the Elucidation of Na- 
tional Characteristics . . .89 

xyiii An Illegible Word .... 95 

xix Gray Ice 101 

xx Tomaso and I 108 

Y 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

xxi Ltjcilla and I 114 

xxii I Close my Book .... 120 

xxiii Racket Island 125 

xxiy The Interpolation . . . 133 

xxy About Sylyia 142 

xxyi Mother Anastasia . . . 148 

xxyii A Person 154 

xxviii The Floating Grocery . . 163 

xxix Fantasy ? 177 

xxx A Discovery 184 

xxxi Taking up Unfinished Work . . 191 

xxxii Tomaso and Lucilla . . . 199 

xxxiii The Distant Topsail . . . 205 

xxxiy The Central Hotel . . . 213 

xxxv Money Makes the Mare Go . . 223 

xxxyi In the Shade of the Oak . . 228 

xxxvii The Performance of my Under- 
study 240 

xxxviii A Broken Trace .... 248 

xxxix A Soul-Whisper? .... 258 

xl An Inspiration .... 263 

xli Miss Laniston 273 

xlii The Mother Superior . . . 280 

xliii Was his Heart True to Poll? . 290 

xliv Preliminary Brotherhood . . 296 

xlv I Make Coffee and Get into Hot 

Water . 307 

xlvi Going Back for a Friend . . 315 

vi 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

xlyii I Interest Miss Laniston . . 322 

xlyiii In a Cold, Bare Boom . . . 328 

xlix My Own Way 334 

l My Book of Trayel .... 340 

li A Loose End 345 

LII I FINISH THE SICILIAN LOVE-STORY . 351 



THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 




V. 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


CHAPTER I 

MY GRANDMOTHER AND I 

M Y grandmother sat in her own particular easy- 
chair by the open window of her back parlor. 
This was a pleasant place in which to sit in the after- 
noon, for the sun was then on the other side of the 
house, and she could look not only over the smooth 
grass of the side yard and the flower-beds, which were 
under her especial care, but across the corner of the 
front lawn into the village street. Here, between two 
handsome maple-trees which stood upon the sidewalk, 
she could see something of what was going on in the 
outer world without presenting the appearance of one 
who is fond of watching her neighbors. It was not 
much that she saw, for the street was a quiet one, but 
a very little of that sort of thing satisfied her. 

She was a woman who was easily satisfied. As a 
proof of this I may say that she looked upon me as a 
man who always did what was right. Indeed, I am 
quite sure there were cases when she saved herself a 
good deal of perplexing cogitation by assuming that a 
thing was right because I did it. I was her only 
3 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


grandchild. My father and mother had died when I 
was very young, and I had always lived with her,— 
that is, her house had always been my home,— and as 
I am sure there had never been any reason why I 
should not be a dutiful and affectionate grandson, it 
was not surprising that she looked upon me with 
a certain tender partiality, and that she considered 
me worthy of all the good that she or fortune could 
bestow upon me. 

My grandmother was nearly seventy, but her physi- 
cal powers had been excellently well preserved, and 
as to her mental vigor, I could see no change in it. 
Even when a little boy I had admired her powers of 
sympathetic consideration, by which she divined the 
needs and desires of her fellow-creatures, and now 
that I had become a grown man, I found those powers 
as active and ready as they had ever been. 

The village in which we lived contained a goodly 
number of families of high standing and comfortable 
fortune. It was a village of well-kept and well-shaded 
streets, of close-cut grass, with no litter on the side- 
walks. Our house was one of the best in the place, 
and since I had come of age I had greatly improved 
it. I had a fair inheritance from my mother, and this 
my grandmother desired me to expend, without refer- 
ence to what I was receiving and would receive from 
her. To her son’s son would come, ultimately, every- 
thing that she possessed. 

Being thus able to carry out my ideas concerning 
the comfort and convenience of a bachelor, I had built 
a wing to my grandmother’s house, which was occu- 
pied only by myself. It communicated by several 
doors with the main building, and these doors were 
4 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


nearly always open ; but it was satisfactory to me to 
think that, if I chose, I might shut and lock them, and 
thus give my apartment the advantages of a separate 
house. The ground floor of my establishment con- 
sisted of a large and handsome library and study, with 
a good-sized anteroom opening from it, and above 
were my sleeping- and dressing-rooms. With the ex- 
ception of the time devoted to reading, reflection, 
and repose, I lived with my grandmother. 

We did not, however, confine ourselves to this 
village life. The winters my grandmother generally 
spent with a married sister in a neighboring city, and 
I was accustomed to visit and journey whenever it 
pleased me. Recently I had spent a year in Europe, 
and, on my return, I joined my grandmother for a 
time, before going to our village home. 


5 




CHAPTER II 


RELATING TO MY YEAR IN EUROPE 

I do not suppose that any one ever enjoyed travel 
and residence in England and on the Continent more 
than I did, but I do not now intend to give any ac- 
count of my experiences, nor of the effect they had 
upon me, save in one regard. I had travelled and 
lived, for the most part, alone, and one of the greatest 
pleasures connected with my life in Europe was the 
anticipation of telling my friends who had never 
crossed the ocean what I had seen, heard, and done. 

But when I returned to America I met with a great 
disappointment. My glowing anticipations were not 
realized ; I could find scarcely any one who cared to 
know what I had seen, heard, or done. 

At this I was as much surprised as disappointed. I 
believed that I possessed fair powers of description 
and narration, and many of my travelling experiences 
were out of the common. In fact, I had endeavored 
to see things the ordinary traveller does not see, and 
to do things which he seldom does. I found, however, 
that my unusual experiences were of no advantage to 
me in making people desirous to hear accounts of my 
travels. I might as well have joined a party of per- 
sonally conducted tourists. 

6 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


My friends and acquaintances in town were all glad 
to see me, not that they might hear what had hap- 
pened to me, but that they might tell me what had 
happened to them. This disposition sometimes threw 
me into a state of absolute amazement. I could not 
comprehend, for instance, why Mrs. Gormer, who had 
known me for years, and who, I thought, would take 
such an active interest in everything that concerned 
me, should dismiss my European tour with a few re- 
marks in regard to my health in the countries I had 
passed through, and then begin an animated account 
of the troubles she had had since I had been away : 
how the house she had been living in had had two 
feet of water in the cellar for weeks at a time, and 
how nobody could find out whether it was caused by 
a spring in the ground or the bursting of an unknown 
water-pipe— but, no matter what it was, they couldn’t 
stay there j what a dreadful time they had in find- 
ing another house, and how the day appointed for 
Jennie’s wedding coming directly in the middle of the 
moving, it had to be postponed, for she declared she 
would never be married anywhere but at home, and 
how several of Mr. Barclay’s relations came down from 
New Hampshire on purpose to be at the wedding, and 
had to stay either at hotels or with friends, for it was 
more than a week before her house could be made 
ready for the wedding. She then remarked that, of 
course, I had heard of the shameful way in which J ohn 
had been treated in regard to that position in the 
Treasury Department at Washington, and as I had 
not heard, she went on and told me about it, until it 
was time for me to go. 

At my club, some of the men did not know that I 
7 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


had been away, but there were others who were very 
glad to hear that I had been in Europe, because it 
gave them an opportunity to tell me about that very 
exciting election of Brubaker, a man of whom I had 
never heard, who had been proposed by Shuster, with 
whom I was not acquainted, and seconded by Cush- 
man, whom I did not know. I found no one desirous 
of hearing me talk about my travels, and those who 
were willing to do so were satisfied with a very few 
general points. Sometimes I could not but admire 
the facility and skill with which some of the people 
who stay at home were able to defend themselves 
against the attempted loquacity of the returned 
traveller. 

Occasionally, in social gatherings, I met with some 
one, generally a lady, who did take an interest in 
hearing that I had been in such or such a place, but 
this was always some place in which she had been, and, 
after comparing experiences, she would go on to tell 
of things which she had seen and done, and often 
ended by making me feel very sorry for having neg- 
lected my opportunities. 

“Yes,” said one, “it must have been cold on the top 
of that lonely mountain, with nothing to warm you 
but those plump little wolves, and the constant fear 
that their mother might come back ; but you ought 
to have been here during the blizzard.” And then 
she went on with a full history of the great bliz- 
zard. 

Everywhere I was met by that blizzard. Those 
people who had not moved, or who had not had a 
puzzling disease in the family, or who had not been 
8 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


instrumental in founding a free kindergarten, could 
always fall back on the blizzard. I heard how their 
fathers could not get home on the train, of the awful 
prices the people charged for clearing away the snow, 
of the way in which Jane and Adelaide had to get on 
without music lessons for nearly ten days, and of the 
scarcity of milk. Ho one who had seen and felt that 
irrepressible storm suffered from it as I did. It 
chilled the aspirations of my soul, it froze the un- 
spoken words of my mouth, it overwhelmed and 
buried every rising hope of speech, and smothered 
and sometimes nearly obliterated my most interesting 
recollection. Many a time I have mentally sent that 
blizzard to regions where its icy blasts would have 
melted as in a hot simoon. 

I truly believed that in our village I should find 
sensible people who would be glad to hear about 
interesting things they never had seen. Many of 
them had not travelled, and a returned tourist was a 
comparative rarity in the place. I went down there 
on purpose to talk about Europe. It was too early 
for my grandmother’s return to the country, and I pro- 
posed to spend a week with my village friends, and, be- 
fore their bright firesides, to charm and to delight them 
with accounts of those things which had so charmed 
and delighted me. The lives of city people are so 
filled with every sort of material that it is useless to 
try to crowd anything more into them. Here, how- 
ever, were people with excellent intellects, whose 
craving for mental pabulum, especially in the winter, 
could be but partially satisfied. 

But bless me ! I never heard of such an overstock 
9 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


of mental pabulum as I found there. It was poured 
upon me by every one with whom I tried to converse. 
I was frequently permitted to begin statements which 
I believed must win their way, if they were allowed 
a fair start, but very soon something I said was sure 
to suggest something which had occurred in the vil- 
lage, and before I could brace myself, the torrent 
would burst upon me. Never did I hear, in the same 
space of time, so much about things which had hap- 
pened as I then heard from my village neighbors. It 
was not that so much had occurred, but that so much 
was said about what had occurred. It was plain there 
was no hope for me here, and, after three days, I went 
back to town. 

Now it was early summer, and my grandmother and 
I were again in our dear home in the village. As I 
have said, she was sitting by the open window, where 
she could look out upon the flowers, the grass, and a 
little of the life of her neighbors. I sat near her, and 
had been telling her of my three days in the Forest of 
Arden, and of the veritable Jaques whom I met there, 
when she remarked : 

“That must have been extremely interesting ; and, 
speaking of the woods, I wish you would say to Thomas 
that, so soon as he can find time, I want him to bring 
up some of that rich wood soil and put it around those 
geraniums.” 

This was the first time my grandmother had inter- 
jected any remark into my recitals. She had often 
asked me to tell her about my travels, and on every 
other occasion she had listened until she softly fell 
asleep. I now remembered having heard her say that 
it interfered with her night’s rest to sleep in the day- 
10 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


time. Perhaps her present interruption was intended 
as a gentle rebuke, and no other kind of rebuke had 
ever come to me from my grandmother. 

I went out to find Thomas, oppressed by a mild 
despair. If I were to tell my tales to a stone, I 
thought, it would turn on me with a sermon. 


11 


CHAPTER IH 


THE MODERN USE OF THE HUMAN EAR 

During my lonely walks and rides through the coun- 
try about our village, I began to cogitate and philoso- 
phize upon the present social value of the human ear. 
u Why do people in society and in domestic circles have 
ears ? ” I asked myself. “They do not use them to listen 
to one another.” And then I thought and pondered 
further, and suddenly the truth came to me : The ears 
of the present generation are not purveyors to the 
mind— they are merely agents of the tongue, that 
watch for breaks or weak places in the speech of 
others, in order that their principal may rush in and 
hold the field. They are jackals, who scent out a 
timid pause or an unsuspecting silence, which the lion 
tongue straightway destroys. Very forcibly the con- 
viction came to me that nowadays we listen only for 
an opportunity to speak. 

I was grieved that true listening had become a lost 
art, for without it worthy speech is impossible. To 
good listening is due a great part of the noble thought, 
the golden instruction, and the brilliant wit which 
has elevated, enlightened, and brightened the soul of 
man. There are fine minds whose workings are never 
12 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


expressed in writing, and even among those who, in 
print, spread their ideas before the world, there is a 
certain cream of thought which is given only to lis- 
teners, if, haply, there be such. 

Modern conversation has degenerated into the Ital- 
ian game of moccoletti , in which every one endeavors 
to blow out the candles of the others, and keep his 
own alight. In such rude play there is no illumi- 
nation. 

“There should be a reform,” I declared. “There 
should be schools of listening. Here men and women 
should be taught how, with sympathetic and delicate 
art, to draw from others the useful and sometimes 
precious speech which, without their skilful coopera- 
tion, might never know existence. To be willing to 
receive, in order that good may be given, should be 
one of the highest aims of life. 

“Not only should we learn to listen in order to give 
opportunity for the profitable speech of others, but 
we should do so out of charity and good will to our 
fellow-men. How many weary sick-beds, how many 
cheerless lives, how many lonely, depressed, and silent 
men and women, might be gladdened, and for the 
time transformed, by one who would come, not to 
speak words of cheer and comfort, but to listen to 
tales of suffering and trial ! Here would be one of 
the truest forms of charity— an almost unknown joy 
would be given to the world. 

“There should be brotherhoods and sisterhoods of 
listeners. Like good angels, they should go out among 
those unfortunates who have none to hear that which 
it would give them so much delight to say.” 

But alas ! I knew of no such good angels. Must that 
13 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


which I had to tell remain forever untold for the want 
of one? This could not be. There must exist some- 
where a man or a woman who would be willing to 
hear my accounts of travels and experiences which, 
in an exceptional degree, were interesting and valu- 
able. 

I determined to advertise for a listener. 


14 


CHAPTER IY 


I OBTAIN A LISTENER 

The writing of my advertisement cost me a great deal 
of trouble. At first I thought of stating that I desired 
a respectable and intelligent person, who would de- 
vote a few hours each day to the services of a literary 
man. But, on reflection, I saw that this would bring 
me a vast number of answers from persons who were 
willing to act as secretaries, proof-readers, or any- 
thing of the sort, and I should have no means of find- 
ing out from their letters whether they were good 
listeners, or not. 

Therefore, I determined to be very straightforward 
and definite, and to state plainly what it was I 
wanted. The following is the advertisement which I 
caused to be inserted in several of the city papers : 

“Wanted.— A respectable and intelligent person, 
willing to devote several hours a day to listening to the 
recitals of a traveller. Address, stating compensation 
expected, Oral.” 

I mentioned my purpose to no one, not even to my 
grandmother, for I should merely have made myself 
the object of the ridicule of my friends, and my dear 
15 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


relative’s soul would be filled with grief that she had 
not been considered competent to do for me so slight 
a service. If I succeeded in obtaining a listener, he 
could come to me in my library, where no one would 
know he was not a stenographer to whom I was dic- 
tating literary matter, or a teacher of languages who 
came to instruct me in Arabic. 

I received a dozen or more answers to my advertise- 
ment, some of which were very amusing, and others 
very unsatisfactory. Hot one of the writers under- 
stood what sort of service I desired, but all expressed 
their belief that they were fully competent to give 
it, whatever it might be. 

After a good deal of correspondence and some inter- 
viewing, I selected at last a person who I believed 
would prove himself a satisfactory listener. He was 
an elderly man, of genteel appearance, and apparently 
of a quiet and accommodating disposition. He as- 
sured me that he had once been a merchant, engaged 
in the importation of gunny-bags, and, having failed 
in business, had since depended on the occasional 
assistance given him by a widowed daughter-in-law. 
This man I engaged, and arranged that he should lodge 
at the village inn, and come to me every evening. 

I was truly delighted that, so far, I had succeeded 
in my plan. How, instead of depending upon the 
whims, fancies, or occasional good-natured compliance 
of any one, I was master of the situation. My listener 
was paid to listen to me, and listen to me he must. 

If he did not do so intelligently, he should be dis- 
missed. It would be difficult to express fully the 
delight given me by my new possession —the owner- 
ship of attention. 


16 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Every evening my listener came, and during a 
great part of every day I thought of what I should 
say to him when he should come. I talked to him 
with a feeling of freedom and absolute independence 
which thrilled me like champagne. AVhat mattered 
it whether my speech interested him or not? He was 
paid to listen, without regard to interest. More than 
that, he was paid to show an interest, whether he felt 
it or not. Whether I bored him or delighted him, it 
made no difference. In fact, it would be a pleasure to 
me occasionally to feel that I did bore him. To have 
the full opportunity and the perfect right to bore a 
fellow-being is a privilege not lightly to be prized, 
and an added zest is given to the enjoyment of the 
borer by the knowledge that the bored one is bound 
to make it appear that he is not bored. 

In an easy-chair opposite to me, my listener sat and 
listened for two hours every evening. I interested 
myself by watching and attempting to analyze the 
expressions on his face, but what these appeared to 
indicate made no difference in my remarks. I do not 
think he liked repetitions, but if I chose to tell a thing 
several times, I did so. He had no right to tell me 
he had heard that before. Immunity from this re- 
mark was, to me, a rare enjoyment. 

I made it a point to talk as well as I could, for I 
like to hear myself talk well, but I paid no attention 
to the likings of my listener. Later I should probably 
do this, but at present it was a joy to trample upon 
the likings of others. My own likings in this respect 
had been so often trampled upon that I would not 
now deny myself the exercise of the right— bought 
and paid for— to take this sweet revenge. 

17 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


On the evenings of nine week-days and one Sunday, 
when I confined myself entirely to a description of a 
short visit to Palestine, I talked and my listener 
listened. About the middle of the evening of the 
tenth week-day, when I was engaged in the expres- 
sion of some fancies evoked by the recollection of a 
stroll through the Egyptian department of the Louvre, 
I looked at my listener, and beheld him asleep. 

As I stopped speaking, he awoke with a start, and 
attempted to excuse himself by stating that he had 
omitted to take coffee with his evening meal. I made 
no answer, but, opening my pocket-book, paid and 
discharged him. 


18 


CHAPTER Y 


CHESTER WAEKIRK 

It is not my custom to be discouraged by a first fail- 
ure. I looked over the letters which had been sent 
to me in answer to my advertisement, and wrote to 
another of the applicants, who very promptly came 
to see me. 

The appearance of this man somewhat discouraged 
me. My first thought concerning him was that a man 
who seemed to be so thoroughly alive was not likely 
to prove a good listener. But after I had had a talk 
with him, I determined to give him a trial. Of one 
thing I was satisfied : he would keep awake. He was 
a man of cheerful aspect, alert in motion, glance, and 
speech. His age was about forty. He was of medium 
size, a little inclined to be stout, and his face, upon 
which he wore no hair, was somewhat ruddy. In 
dress he was neat and proper, and he had an air of 
friendly deference, which seemed to me to suit the 
position I wished him to fill. 

He spoke of himself and his qualifications with tact, 
if not with modesty, and rated very highly his ability 
to serve me as a listener, but he did so in a manner 
intended to convince me that he was not boasting, but 
19 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


stating facts which it was necessary I should know. 
His experience had been varied : he had acted as a 
tutor, a travelling companion, a confidential clerk, a 
collector of information for technical writers, and in 
other capacities requiring facility of adaptation to 
exigencies. At present he was engaged in making a 
catalogue for a collector of prints, whose treasures, in 
the course of years, had increased to such an extent 
that it was impossible for him to remember what his 
long rows of portfolios contained. The collector was 
not willing that work among his engravings should 
be done by artificial light, and, as the evenings of my 
visitor were, therefore, disengaged, he said he should 
be glad to occupy them in a manner which would not 
-only be profitable to him, but, he was quite sure, 
would be very interesting. 

The man’s name was Chester Walkirk, and I en- 
gaged him to come to me every evening, as my first 
listener had done. 

I began my discourses with Walkirk with much 
less confidence and pleasurable anticipation than I 
had felt with regard to the quiet, unassuming, elderly 
person who had been my first listener, and whom I 
had supposed to be a very model of receptivity. The 
new man, I feared, would demand more— if not by 
word, at least by manner. He would be more like an 
audience : I should find myself striving to please him, 
and I could not feel careless whether he liked what I 
said, or not. 

But by the middle of the first evening all my fears 
and doubts in regard to Walkirk had disappeared. 
He proved to be an exceptionally good listener. As 
I spoke, he heard me with attention and evident in- 
20 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

terest, and this lie showed by occasional remarks, 
which he took care should never be interruptions. 
These interpolations were managed with much tact. 
Sometimes they were in the form of questions, which 
reminded me of something I had intended to say, but 
had omitted, which led me to speak further upon the 
subject, perhaps on some other phase of it. Now and 
then, by the expression on his countenance, or by a 
word or two, he showed interest, gratification, astonish- 
ment, or some other appropriate sentiment. 

When I stopped speaking, he would sit quietly and 
muse upon what I had been saying, or, if he thought 
me not too deeply absorbed in reflection, would ask a 
question, or say something relative to. the subject in 
hand, which would give me the opportunity of mak- 
ing some remarks which it gratified me to know he 
wanted to hear. 

I could not help feeling that I talked better to 
Walkirk than I had ever done to any one else, and I 
did not hesitate to admit to myself that this gratify- 
ing result was due in great part to his ability as a 
listener. I do not say that he drew me out, but he 
gave me opportunities to show myself in the broadest 
and best lights. This truly might be said to be good 
listening : it produced good speech. 

Day after day, I became better and better satisfied 
with Chester Walkirk, and it is seldom that I have 
enjoyed myself more than in talking to him. I am 
sure that it gave me more actual pleasure to tell him 
what I had seen and what I had done than I had felt 
in seeing and doing those things. This may appear 
odd, but it is a fact. I readily revived in myself the 
emotions that accompanied my experiences, and to 
21 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


these recalled emotions was added the sympathetic 
interest of another. 

In other ways Walkirk won my favor. He was 
good-natured and intelligent, and showed that he was 
anxious to please me not only as a listener, hut as a 
companion, or, I might better say, as an associate 
inmate of my study. What he did not know in this 
respect he set himself diligently to learn. 


22 


CHAPTEK VI 

MY UNDERSTUDY 

In talking about my travels to Chester Walkirk, I 
continued, for a time, to treat the subject in the same 
desultory manner in which I had related my experi- 
ences to my first listener. But the superior intelli- 
gence, and I may say the superior attention, of 
Walkirk acted upon me as a restraint as well as an 
incentive. I made my descriptions as graphic and 
my statements as accurate as I could, and, stimulated 
by his occasional questions and remarks, I began to 
discourse systematically and with a well-considered 
plan. I went from country to country, in the order 
in which I had travelled through them, and placed my 
reflections on social, political, or artistic points where 
they naturally belonged. 

It was plain to see that Walkirk’s interest and plea- 
sure increased when my rambling narrations resolved 
themselves into a series of evening lectures upon 
Great Britain, the Continent, and the north coast of 
Africa, and his pleasure was a decided gratification 
to me. If his engagements and mine had permitted, 
I should have been glad to talk to him at other times 
as well as in the evening. 


23 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


After a month or more of this agreeable occupation, 
the fact began to impress itself upon me that I was 
devoting too much time to the pleasure of being 
listened to. My grandmother gently complained that 
the time I gave to her after dinner appeared to be 
growing less and less, and there was a good deal of 
correspondence, and other business I was in the habit 
of attending to in the evening, which now was neg- 
lected, or done in the daytime, when I should have 
been doing other things. 

I was not a man of leisure. My grandmother 
owned a farm about a mile from our village, and over 
the management of this I exercised a supervision. I 
was erecting some houses on land of my own on the 
outskirts of the village, and for this reason, as well as for 
others, it was frequently necessary for me to go to the 
city on business errands. Besides all this, social duties 
had a claim on me, summer and winter. 

I had gradually formed the habit of talking with 
Walkirk on other subjects than my travels, and one 
evening I mentioned to him some of the embarrass- 
ments and annoyances to which I had been subjected 
during the day, on account of the varied character of 
my affairs. Walkirk sat for a minute or two, his chin 
in his hand, gazing steadfastly upon the carpet ; then 
he spoke : 

“Mr. Yanderley, what you say suggests something 
which I have been thinking of saying to you. I have 
now finished the catalogue of prints on which I was 
engaged when I entered your service as a listener, 
and my days, therefore, being at my disposal, it would 
give me great pleasure to put them at yours. 7 ’ 

“In what capacity?” I asked. 

24 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“In that of an understudy / 7 said he. 

I assured him that I did not know what he meant. 

“I don’t wonder at that / 7 said he, with a smile, 
“but I will explain. In theatrical circles each prin- 
cipal performer is furnished with what is termed, in 
the profession, an understudy. This is an actor, male 
or female, as the case may be, who studies the part of 
the performer, and is capable of going through with 
it, with more or less ability, in case the regular actor, 
from sickness or any other cause, is prevented from 
appearing in his part. In this way the manager pro- 
vides against emergencies which might, at any time, 
stop his play and ruin his business. Now, I should 
like very much to be your understudy, and I think, 
in this capacity, I could be of great service to you . 77 

I made no answer, but I am sure my countenance 
expressed surprise. 

“I do not mean / 7 he continued, “to propose that I 
shall act as your agent in the various forms of busi- 
ness which press upon you, but I suggest that you 
allow me to do for you exactly what the understudy 
does for the actor— that is, that you let me take your 
place when it is inconvenient or impossible for you to 
take it yourself . 77 

“It strikes me / 7 said I, “that, in the management 
of my affairs, it would be very seldom that you or 
any one else could take my place . 77 

“Of course / 7 said Walkirk, “under present circum- 
stances, that would be impossible. But suppose, for 
instance, you take me with you to those houses you 
are building, that you show me what has been done 
and what you intend to do, and that you let me make 
myself familiar with the whole plan and manner of 
25 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


the work. This would be easy for me, for I have 
superintended house-building, and, although I am 
neither a plumber, a mason, a carpenter, a paper- 
hanger, nor a painter, I know how such people should 
do their work. Therefore, if you should be unable 
to attend to the matter yourself,— and in such case 
only,— I could go to see how the work was pro- 
gressing $ and this I could do with regard to your 
farm, or any other of your business with the details 
of which you should care to have me make myself 
familiar— always remembering that I should not act 
as your regular agent in any one of these affairs, but 
as one who, when it is desirable, temporarily takes 
your place. I think, Mr. Vanderley, that it would 
be of advantage to you to consider my proposition.” 

I did consider it, and the next evening I engaged 
Chester Walkirk as an understudy. 


26 


CHAPTEK VII 


MY BOOK 

In order to be at hand when I might need him, Wal- 
kirk took up his residence at the village tavern, or, 
as some of ns were pleased to call it, the inn. To 
make him available when occasion should require, I 
took him with me to the scene of my building opera- 
tions, and to my grandmother’s farm, and he there 
showed the same intelligent interest that he gave to 
my evening recitals. I had no difficulty in finding 
occupation for my understudy, and, so far as I could 
judge, he attended to the business I placed in his 
hands as well as I could have done it myself ; indeed, 
in some instances, he did it better, for he gave it more 
time and careful consideration. 

In this business of supplying my place in emer- 
gencies, Walkirk showed so much ability in promot- 
ing my interests that I became greatly pleased with 
the arrangement I had made with him. It was some- 
what surprising to me, and I think to Walkirk, that 
so many cases arose in which I found it desirable that 
he should take my place. I was going to look at a 
horse. Some visitors arrived : I sent Walkirk. There 
was a meeting of a scientific society which I wished 
27 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


very much to attend, but I could not do that and go 
to a dinner-party, to which I had been invited, on the 
same evening. Walkirk went to the meeting, took 
notes, and the next day gave me a full report in re- 
gard to some particular points in which I was inter- 
ested, and which were not mentioned in the short 
newspaper notice of the meeting. 

In other cases, of which at first I could not have 
imagined the possibility, my understudy was of use 
to me. I was invited to address my fellow-townsmen 
and -townswomen on the occasion of the centennial 
anniversary of the settlement of our village, and as I 
had discovered that Walkirk was a good reader, I 
took him with me, in order that he might deliver my 
written address, in case my courage should give out. 
My courage did not give out, but I am very sure 
I was greatly supported and emboldened by the 
knowledge that if, at the last moment, my embarrass- 
ment should not allow me to begin my address, or if, 
in the course of its delivery, I should feel unable, for 
any reason, to go on with it, there was some one 
present who would read it for me. 

It had long been my habit to attend, with my grand- 
mother, bi-monthly, an early-evening whist-party at 
the house of an elderly neighbor. I had a bad head- 
ache on one of these appointed evenings, and Wal- 
kirk, who was a perfectly respectable and presentable 
man, went with my grandmother in my stead. I 
afterwards heard that he played an excellent hand at 
whist— a remark which had never been made of me. 

But I will not refer, at present, to any further in- 
stances of the usefulness of my understudy, except to 
say that, as I found his feet were of the same size and 
28 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

shape as my own, I sent him to be measured for a 
pair of heavy walking-shoes which I needed, and I 
once arranged for him to serve in my place on a 
coroner’s jury, in the case of a drowned infant. 

The evening listenings still went on, and as the 
scope of my remarks grew wider, and their purpose 
became better defined, it began to dawn upon me that 
it was selfish to devote these accounts of remarkable 
travelling experiences to the pleasure of only two 
men, myself and my listener. The public would be 
interested in these things. I ought to write a book. 

This idea pleased me very much. As Walkirk was 
now able to take my place in so many ways, I could 
give a good deal of time each day to composition, 
and, moreover, there was no reason why such work 
should interfere with my pleasure in being listened 
to. I could write by day, and talk at night. It 
would be all the better for my book that I should 
first orally deliver the matter to Walkirk, and after- 
wards write it. I broached this idea to Walkirk, 
but, while he did not say so in words, it was plain to 
me he did not regard it with favor. He reflected a 
little before speaking. 

“The writing of a book,” he said, “is a very serious 
thing, and, although it is not my province to advise 
you, I will say that, if I were in your place, I should 
hesitate a good while before commencing a labor like 
that. I have no doubt, judging from what I have 
already heard of your travels, that you would make a 
most useful and enjoyable book, but the question in 
my mind is, whether the pleasure you would give 
your readers would repay you for the time and labor 
you would put upon this work.” 

29 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

This was the first time that Walkirk had offered 
me advice. I had no idea of taking it, but I did not 
resent it. 

“I do not look at the matter in that way,” I said. 
“An absorbing labor will be good for me. My 
undertaking may result in overworking you, for you 
will be obliged to act as my understudy even more 
frequently than you do now.” 

“Oh, I am not afraid of work,” said he. “I can stand 
any amount of it. But how about the evening dis- 
courses— will they come to an end?” 

“Not at all,” said I. “I shall go on giving you an 
account of my travels, just as before. This will help 
me to judge better what to put in and what to leave 
out of my book.” 

“I am very glad to hear that,” he said, with anima- 
tion. “I do not hesitate to own to you that I should 
very greatly regret to lose those most interesting 
accounts of your experiences.” 

This was very complimentary, but, as he was paid 
to listen, the remark did not possess the force it would 
have had, had he paid to hear me. 

Enthusiastically I went to work upon my book, and 
I found that talking about my travels to Walkirk 
helped me to write about them for the public. But 
a week had not passed when I came to the conclusion 
that writing was in no way so pleasant as talking. I 
disliked labor with the pen, I disliked long sitting at 
my desk. The composition of the matter was enough 
for me ; some one else should put it on paper. I must 
have a secretary. I went immediately to Walkirk, 
who was at the inn, working upon some of my ac- 
counts. 


30 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Walkirk,” said I, “I can get somebody else to do 
that sort of thing. I want you to act as my amanu- 
ensis.” 

To my surprise, his face clouded. He seemed 
troubled, even pained. 

“I am very, very sorry,” he said, “to decline any 
work which yon may desire me to do, but I really 
must decline this. I cannot write from dictation. I 
cannot be your amanuensis. Although it may seem 
like boasting, this is one of the few things I cannot 
do. My nervous temperament, my disposition,— in 
fact, my very nature,— stand in the way, and make the 
thing impossible.” 

I could not understand Walkirk’s objections to this 
sort of work, for he was a ready writer, a good stenog- 
rapher, and had shown himself perfectly willing and 
able to perform duties much more difficult and dis- 
tasteful than I imagined this possibly could be. But 
there are many things I do not understand, and which 
I consider it a waste of time to try to understand, 
and this was one of them. 

“Then I must get some one else,” said I. 

“If you decide to do that,” said Walkirk, “I will 
attend to the matter for you, and you need trouble 
yourself no further about it. I will go to the city, or 
wherever it is necessary to go, and get you an amanu- 
ensis.” 

“Do so,” said I, “but come and report to me before 
you make any engagement.” 

The next day Walkirk made his report. He had 
not been as successful as he had hoped to be. If I 
had been doing my work in the city, he could have 
found me stenographers, amanuenses, or type-writers 
31 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


by the hundred. By living and working in the coun- 
try, I made his task much more difficult. He had found 
but few persons who were willing to come to me every 
day, no matter what the weather, and only one or two 
who would consent to come to our village to live. But 
he had made a list of several applicants who might 
suit me, and who were willing to accept one or the 
other of the necessary conditions. 

“They are all women ! ” I exclaimed, when I looked 
at it. 

“Yes,” said he. “It would be very difficult, perhaps 
impossible, to find a competent man who would answer 
your purpose. The good ones could not afford to give 
you part of their time, which is all you require, and 
you would not want any other. With women the 
case is different. And, besides, I am sure, from my own 
experience, that a lady amanuensis would suit your 
purpose much better than a man. She would be more 
patient, more willing to accommodate herself to your 
moods, in every way more available.” 

I had not engaged Walkirk to be my understudy 
in matters of judgment, and I did not intend that he 
should act in that capacity, but there was force in 
his remarks, and I determined to give them due con- 
sideration. Although I had apartments of my own, 
I really lived in my grandmother’s house, and, of 
course, it was incumbent upon me to consult her upon 
this subject. She looked at the matter in her usual 
kindly way, and soon came to be of the opinion that, 
if I could give a worthy and industrious young woman 
an opportunity to earn her livelihood, I ought to do 
it— taking care, of course, to engage no one who could 
not furnish the very best references. 

32 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I now put the matter again into Walkirk’s hands, 
and told him to produce the persons he had selected. 
He managed the matter with great skill, and in the 
course of one morning four ladies called upon me, in 
such a way that they did not interfere with each 
other. Of these applicants none pleased me. 

One of them was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, rather 
spare person, whose youthful energies had been so 
improved by years that I was sure her briskness of 
action, her promptness of speech, and her evident 
anxiety to get to work and to keep at it, would even- 
tually drive me crazy. 

Another was a skilled stenographer, who could 
write I forget how many hundred words a minute ; 
and when I told her there were no minutes in which 
I could dictate as many words as that, even if I 
wanted to, and that there would be many minutes in 
which I should not dictate any words at all, she said 
she was afraid that if she fell into a dilly-dally, poky 
way of working, it would impair her skill, and it 
might be difficult, when she left my employment, to 
regain her previous expertness. She was quite will- 
ing, however, to engage with me, and thought that if 
I would try to dictate as fast as possible, I might, in 
time, be able to keep her nearly up to her normal 
standard. 

A third one was willing to write longhand, and to 
work as slowly and as irregularly as I pleased. I 
gave her a short trial, but her writing was so illegible 
that I could not discover whether or not she made 
mistakes in spelling. I had, however, my suspicions 
on this point. 

The fourth applicant I engaged to come for a week 
33 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


on trial. She exhibited no prominent disabilities, 
and I thought she might be made to answer my 
purpose. But as she possessed no prominent capabili- 
ties, and as she asked me to repeat almost every sen- 
tence which I dictated to her, I found it very tiresome 
to work with her, and I punished Walkirk by making 
him act as my understudy on the third and fourth 
days of her engagement. I requested him to dictate 
to her some detailed incidents of travel which I had 
told him, and which I was sure he remembered very 
well. He undertook the task with alacrity, but, after 
two mornings 7 work, he advised me to discharge her. 
Dictating to her, he said, was like talking into a tin 
spout with nobody at the other end. Somebody might 
come if you shouted long enough, but this was tire- 
some. 


34 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE MALARIAL ADJUNCT 

The fifth applicant on Walkirk’s list had a morning 
to herself. So soon as she entered my study I hoped 
that she would suit me, and I had not talked with her 
ten minutes before I decided that she would. Her 
personality was exceedingly agreeable. She was nei- 
ther too young nor too old. She expressed herself 
with a good-humored frankness which I liked, and 
appeared to be of a very practical turn of mind. She 
was a practised stenographer, was accustomed to write 
from dictation and to read aloud, could correct proof, 
and had some admirable references. Her abilities 
appeared so excellent, and her demeanor was so 
agreeable to me, that I engaged her. 

“I am very happy indeed, Mr. Vanderley,” she said, 
with the pretty dimpled smile which had so frequently 
shown itself in the course of our conversation, “that 
you have given me this position. I am sure that I 
shall like it, and I shall try very hard to make my 
work satisfactory. I shall come up every morning 
in the nine-o’clock train, as you desire. I shall be 
obliged to bring my husband with me, but this will 
not in any way interfere with my work. He is suf- 
35 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


fering from a malarial disease, and is subject to periods 
of faintness, so that it would be impossible for me to 
leave him for the whole morning. But he can sit 
outside anywhere, under a tree, or perhaps some- 
where in the house if it happens to rain. He is per- 
fectly contented if he has a comfortable place to sit 
in. He is not able to attend to any business, and, as I 
now have to be the bread-winner, I am most deeply 
grateful for this work which you have given me. I 
am sure that the little trip in and out of town will do 
him good, and as I shall buy commutation-tickets, it 
will not be expensive. He came with me this morn- 
ing, and, if you will excuse me, I will bring him in 
and introduce him.” And, without waiting for any 
remark from me, she left the room, and shortly re- 
turned with the malarial subject. He was an ex- 
tremely mild-mannered man, of light weight and 
sedate aspect. The few words in which he indicated 
his gratification with his wife’s engagement suggested 
to me the need of sulphate of quinia. 

This revelation of a malarial adjunct to the labors 
of myself and this very agreeable lady greatly sur- 
prised me, and, I must admit, threw me back from 
that condition of satisfaction in which I had found 
myself upon engaging her. And yet, I could think 
of no reasonable objection to make. The lady had 
promised that he should not be in the way, and the 
most I could say, even to myself, was that the ar- 
rangement did not appear attractive to me. Of 
course, with no reason but a chaotic distaste, I would 
not recede from my agreement, and deprive this 
worthy lady of the opportunity of supporting her- 
self and her husband, and the two departed, to re- 
36 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

turn on the following day prepared to labor and to 
wait. 

I inquired of Walkirk— I fear, with some petulance 
—if he had known of the encumbrance attached to this 
candidate, and he replied that she had informed him 
that she was married, but he had had no idea she in- 
tended to bring her husband with her. He was very 
sorry that this was necessary, but, in his judgment, the 
man would not live very long. 

My grandmother was greatly pleased when I told 
her of the arrangement I had made to assist a devoted 
wife to support an invalid husband. She considered 
it a most worthy and commendable action, and she 
was rejoiced that such an opportunity had been 
afforded me. She would do what she could to make 
the poor man comfortable while his wife was at work, 
and if he had any sense at all, and knew what was to 
his advantage, he would be very careful not to inter- 
fere with her duties. 

The next morning the couple appeared, and the 
lady was ensconced in the anteroom to my study, 
which I had fitted up for the use of my secretary, 
where, through the open window in front of her, she 
could see her husband, seated in a rocking-chair 
under a wide-spreading apple-tree. By his side was 
a table, on which lay the morning paper and some 
books which my grandmother had sent out to him. 
For a time she gave him, also, her society, but, as she 
subsequently informed me, she did not find him re- 
sponsive, and soon concluded that he would be hap- 
pier if left to his reflections and the literature with 
which she had provided him. 

As an amanuensis I found my new assistant every - 
37 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


thing that could be desired. She wrote rapidly and 
correctly, never asked me to repeat, showed no ner- 
vousness at the delays in my dictation, and was ready 
to write the instant I was ready to speak. She was 
quick and intelligent in looking up synonyms, and 
appeared perfectly at home in the dictionary. But, 
in spite of these admirable qualifications, I did not 
find myself, that morning, in a condition favorable to 
my best literary work. Whenever my secretary was 
not actually writing, she was looking out of the win- 
dow. Sometimes she would smile and nod, and on 
three occasions, while I was considering, not what I 
should say next, but whether or not I could stand this 
sort of thing, she went gently to the window, and 
asked the invalid, in a clear whisper, intended to be 
entirely undisturbing, how he was getting on, and if 
he wanted anything. 

Two days after this, the air was damp and rain 
threatened, and the malarial gentleman was supplied 
with comfortable quarters in the back parlor. I do 
not know whether or not he liked this better than 
sitting under a tree, but I am sure that the change 
did not please his wife. She could not look at him, 
and she could not ask him how he was getting on, and 
if he wanted anything. I could see that she was wor- 
ried and fidgety, although endeavoring to work as 
faithfully and steadily as usual. Twice, during a break 
in the dictation, she asked me to excuse her for just 
one minute, while she ran into the parlor to take a 
peep at him. 

The next day it rained, and there seemed every 
probability that we should have continued wet 
weather, and that it would be days before the mala- 
38 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


rial one could sit under the apple-tree. Therefore, 
I looked the situation fairly in the face. It was im- 
possible for me to dictate to a nervous, anxious 
woman, whose obvious mental condition acted most 
annoyingly upon my nerves, and I suggested that she 
bring her husband into her room, and let him sit 
there while she worked. With this proposition my 
secretary was delighted. 

“Oh, that will be charming ! ” she cried. “He will 
sit just as still as a mouse, and will not disturb either 
of us, and I shall be able to see how he feels without 
saying a word.” 

For four days the malarial gentleman, as quiet as a 
mouse, sat by my secretary’s window, while she wrote 
at the table, and I walked up and down my study, or 
threw myself into one chair or another, endeavoring 
to forget that that man was sitting by the window, 
that he was trying his best not to do anything which 
might disturb me, that he did not read, or write, or 
occupy his mind in any way, that he heard every 
word I dictated to his wife without indicating that he 
was not deaf, or that he was capable of judging 
whether my words were good, bad, or unworthy of 
consideration. Hot only did I endeavor not to think 
of him, but I tried not to see either him or his wife. 
The silent, motionless figure of the one, and the silent 
but animated and vivacious figure of the other, filled 
with an eager desire to do her work properly, with a 
bubbling and hearty love for her husband, and an 
evident joyousness in the fact that she could love, 
work, and watch, all at the same time, drove from my 
mind every thought of travel or foreign experiences. 
Without the malarial husband, I should have asked 


39 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


for no better secretary. But lie spoiled everything. 
He was like a raw oyster in a cnp of tea. 

I could not drive from my mind the vision of that 
man, even when I knew he was asleep in his bed. 
There was no way of throwing him off. His wife had 
expressed to my grandmother the delight she felt in 
having him in the room with her while she worked, 
and my grandmother had spoken to me of her own 
sympathetic pleasure in this arrangement. I saw it 
would be impossible to exile him again to the apple- 
tree, even if the ground should ever be dry enough. 
There was no hope that he would be left at his home. 
There was no hope that he would get better, and go 
off to attend to his own buisness. There was no hope 
that he would die. 

From dictating but little, I fell to dictating almost 
nothing at all. To keep my secretary at work, I gave 
her some notes of travel of which to make a fair copy, 
while I occupied myself in wondering what I was 
going to do about that malarial husband. 

At last I ceased to wonder, and I did something. I 
went to the city, and, after a day’s hard work, I se- 
cured a position for my secretary in a large publishing 
establishment, where her husband could sit by a win- 
dow in a secluded corner, and keep as quiet as a 
mouse. The good lady overwhelmed me with thanks 
for my kindness. She had begun to fear that, as the 
season grew colder, the daily trip would not suit her 
husband, and she gave me credit for having thought 
the same thing. 

My grandmother and Walkirk were greatly con- 
cerned, as well as surprised, at what I had done. The 
former said that if I attempted to write my book 
40 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

with my own hand, she feared the sedentary work 
would tell upon my health $ and my understudy, 
while regretting very much that his efforts to provide 
me with an amanuensis had proved unsuccessful, 
showed very plainly, although he did not say so, 
that he hoped I had found that authorship was an 
annoying and unprofitable business, and that I would 
now devote myself to pursuits which were more con- 
genial, and in which he could act for me when occa- 
sion required. 


41 


CHAPTER IX 


walkirk’s idea 

Walk irk very soon discovered that I had no inten- 
tion whatever of giving up the writing of my book, 
and I quieted the fears of my grandmother, in regard 
to my health, by assuring her that the sedentary work 
connected with the production of my volume would 
not be done by me. Secretaries could be had, and I 
would get one. 

This determination greatly disturbed Walkirk. He 
did not wish to see me perform a service for myself 
which it was his business to perform for me, and in 
which he had failed. I know that he gave the mat- 
ter the most earnest consideration, and, two days 
after my late secretary and her husband had left 
me, he came into my study, his face shining with a 
new idea. 

“Mr. Vanderley,” said he, “to find you an amanu- 
ensis who will exactly suit you, and who will be will- 
ing to come here into the country to work, is, I think 
you will admit, a very difficult business, but I do not 
intend, if I can help it, to be beaten by it. I have 
thought of a plan which I believe will meet all con- 
tingencies, and I have come to propose it to you. You 
42 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


know that institution just outside the village— the 
House of Martha? ” 

I replied that I knew of it. 

“Well,” he continued, “I did not think of it until a 
day or two ago, and I have since been inquiring into 
its organization and nature. That sisterhood of Mar- 
tha is composed of women who propose not only to 
devote themselves to a life of goodness, but to imitate 
the industrious woman for whom they have named 
themselves. They work not only in their establish- 
ment, but wherever they can find suitable occupation, 
and all that they earn is devoted to the good of the 
institution. Some of them act as nurses for the sick 
—for pay if people can afford it, for nothing if they 
cannot. Others have studied medicine, and practise 
in the same way. They also prepare medicines and 
dispense them, and do a lot of good things— if pos- 
sible, for money and the advantage of the House of 
Martha. But every woman who joins such an institu- 
tion cannot expect immediately to find the sort of 
remunerative work she can best do, and I am in- 
formed that there are several women there who, at 
present, are unemployed. How, it is my opinion that 
among these you could find half a dozen good secre- 
taries.” 

I laughed aloud. “Those women,” said I, “are just 
the same as nuns. It is ridiculous to suppose that 
one of them would be allowed to come here as my 
secretary, even if she wanted to.” 

“I am not so sure of that,” persisted Walkirk. “I 
do not see why literary, or rather clerical, pursuits 
should not be as open to them as medicine or nurs- 
ing.” 


43 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

“You may not see it,” said I, “but I fancy that they 
do.” 

“It is impossible to be certain on that point,” he 
replied, “until we have proposed the matter to them, 
and given them the opportunity to consider it.” 

“If you imagine,” I said, “that I have the effrontery 
to go to that nunnery — for it is no more nor less than 
that— and ask the Lady Abbess to lend me one of her 
nuns to write at my dictation, you have very much 
mistaken me.” 

Walkirk smiled. “I hardly expected you to do 
that,” said he, “ although I must insist that it is not a 
nunnery, and there is no Lady Abbess. There is a 
Head Mother, and some sub-mothers, I believe. My 
idea was that Mrs. Yanderley should drive over there 
and make inquiries for you. A proposition from an 
elderly lady of such high position in the community 
would have a much better effect than if it came from 
a gentleman.” 

Walkirk’s plan amused me very much, and I told 
him I would talk to my grandmother about it. When 
I did so, I was much surprised to find that she re- 
ceived the idea with favor. 

“That Mr. Walkirk,” she said, “is a man of a good 
deal of penetration and judgment, and if you could 
get one of those sisters to come here and write for you, 
I should like it very much, and if the first one did 
not suit, you could try another without trouble or 
expense. The fact that you had a good many strings 
to your bow would give you ease of mind and prevent 
your getting discouraged. I don’t want you to give 
up the idea of having a secretary.” 

Then, with some hesitation, my good grandmother 
44 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


confided to me that there was another reason why this 
idea of employing a sister pleased her. She had been 
a little afraid that some lady secretary, especially like 
that very pleasant and exemplary person with the 
invalid husband, might put the notion into my head 
that it would be a good thing for me to have a wife 
to do my writing. Now, of course she expected me 
to get married some day. That was all right, but 
there was no need of my being in any hurry about it. 
And as to my wife doing my writing, that was not to 
be counted upon positively. Some wives might not 
be willing to do it, and others might not do it well. 
So, as far as that matter was concerned, nothing would 
be gained. But one of those sisters would never sug- 
gest matrimony. They were women apart from all 
that sort of thing. They had certain work to do in 
this world, and they did it for the good of the cause 
in which they were enlisted, without giving any 
thought to those outside matters which so often occupy 
the minds of women who have not, in a manner, sepa- 
rated themselves from the world. She would go that 
very afternoon to the House of Martha and make 
inquiries. 


45 


CHAPTER X 


THE PLAN OF SECLUSION 

My grandmother returned from the House of Martha 
disappointed and annoyed. Life had always flowed 
very smoothly for her, and I had rarely seen her in 
her present mental condition. 

“I do not believe,” she said, “that that institution 
will succeed. Those women are too narrow-minded. 
If they were in a regular stone-walled convent, it 
would be another thing, but they are only a sister- 
hood. They are not shut up there. IPs their business 
and part of their religion to go out, and why they 
should not be willing to come here and do good, as 
well as anywhere else, I cannot see, for the life of 
me.” 

“Then they objected to the proposition?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she replied, “they did, and without any 
reason whatever. I saw their superior, whom they 
call Mother Anastasia, and from her I learned that 
there were several women in the establishment who 
were thoroughly competent to act as secretaries, but 
when I proposed that one of them should come and 
write for you, she said that would not do at all. I 
reasoned the matter with her : that literature was as 


46 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


high a profession as medicine, and as much good could 
be done with the practice of one as the other, and if 
the sisters went out to nurse and to cure, they might 
just as well go out to write for those who cannot write 
for themselves. To that she answered that it was not 
the writing she objected to,— that was all well enough, 
—but it was decidedly outside of the vocation of the 
order for one of the sisters to spend her mornings with 
a young gentleman. If he were sick and suffering, 
and had no one else to attend to him, it would be 
different. Upon this, I told her that you would be 
sick if you were obliged to do your own writing, and, 
therefore, I couldn’t see the difference. 

“But I must admit she was very good-natured and 
pleasant about it, and she told me that if you chose 
to come to their visitors’ room and make yourself 
comfortable there, and dictate, one of the sisters would 
sit at the table behind the grating and would write 
for you. I replied that I did not believe you would 
like that, but that I would mention it to you.” 

I laughed. “So much for Walkirk’s brilliant idea,” 
I said. “I fancy myself going every morning to that 
nunnery, to do my work in their cheerless visitors’ 
room ! ” 

“ Cheerless f I should say so ! ” exclaimed my grand- 
mother. “Bare floors, bare walls, and hard wooden 
chairs. It is not to be thought of.” 

That evening I informed Walkirk of the ill success 
of my grandmother’s mission, but, to my surprise, he 
did not appear to be discouraged. 

“I don’t think we need have any trouble at all in 
managing that affair,” said he. “Why shouldn’t you 
have a grating put up in the doorway between your 
47 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


study and the secretary’s room? Then the sister 
could go in there, the other door could be locked, and 
she would be as much shut off from the world as if 
she were behind a grating in the House of Martha. I 
believe, if this plan were proposed to the sisters, it 
would be agreed to.” 

I scouted the idea as utterly absurd, but when, the 
next morning, I mentioned it to my grandmother, she 
caught at it eagerly, and no sooner had she finished 
her breakfast than she ordered her carriage and drove 
to the House of Martha. 

She returned triumphant. 

“We had a long discussion,” she said, “but Mother 
Anastasia finally saw the matter in its proper light. 
She admitted that if a room could be arranged in this 
house, in which a sister could be actually secluded, 
there was no good reason why she should not work 
there as consistently with their rules as if she were in 
the House of Martha. Therefore, she agreed, if you 
concluded to carry out this plan, to send a sister every 
morning to write for you. So now, if you want a 
secretary from the House of Martha, you can have 
one.” 

To this I replied that I most positively wanted one, 
and Walkirk was immediately instructed to have a 
suitable grating made for the doorway between my 
study and the secretary’s room. 

Nearly a week was required for the execution of 
this work, and during this time I took a rest from 
literary composition, and visited some friends, leaving 
all the arrangements for my new secretary in the 
hands of my grandmother and Walkirk. When I re- 
turned, the iron grating was in its place. It was a 
48 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


neat and artistic piece of work, but I did not like 
it. I object decidedly to anything which suggests re- 
straint. The whole affair of the secretary was, indeed, 
very different from what I would have had it, but I * 
had discovered that, even in our advanced era of civili- 
zation, one cannot always have everything he wants, 
albeit he be perfectly able and willing to pay for it. 


49 


CHAPTER XI 


MY NUN 

At nine o’clock on the morning of the appointed day 
my new secretary came, accompanied by one of those 
sisters called by Walkirk sub-mothers. 

My grandmother received the two, and conducted 
them to the secretary’s room. I was sitting in my 
study, but no attention was paid to me. The sub- 
mother advanced to the grating, and, having exam- 
ined it, appeared satisfied to find that it was securely 
fastened in the doorway. The nun, as I called her, 
although Walkirk assured me the term was incorrect, 
stood with her back toward me, and when her com- 
panion had said a few words to her in a low tone, 
she took her seat at the table. She wore a large gray 
bonnet, the sides and top of which extended far be- 
yond her face, a light-gray shawl, and a gray gown. 
She sat facing the window, with her left side turned 
toward me, and from no point of my study could I 
get a glimpse of her features. 

The sub-mother looked out of the window, which 
opened upon little more than the once husband-shel- 
tering apple-tree, and then, after a general glance 
around the room, she looked at me, and, for the first 
time, addressed me. 


50 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I will come for the sister at twelve o’clock/’ she 
said, and, with that, she followed my grandmother out 
of the room, and locked the door behind her. 

I stood and looked through the grating at my new 
secretary. I am not generally a diffident man, and 
have never been so with persons in my employment, 
but now, I must admit, I did not feel at my ease. 
The nun sat perfectly motionless. Her hands were 
folded in her gray lap, and her gray bonnet was 
slightly bowed, so that I did not know whether she 
was gazing down at the table or out of the window. 

She was evidently ready for work, but I was not. 
I did not know exactly how to begin with such a 
secretary. With the others I had been outspoken 
from the first. I had told them what I wanted, and 
what I did not want, and they had been ready enough 
to listen and ready enough to answer. But to this 
silent, motionless gray figure I did not feel that I 
could be outspoken. Ho words suggested themselves 
as being appropriate to speak out. If I could see her 
face but for a moment, and discover whether she were 
old or young, cross-looking or gentle, I might know 
what to say to her. My impulse was to tell her there 
was a hook on which she could hang her bonnet and 
shawl, but as I did not know whether or not these 
sisters ever took off their bonnets and shawls, I did 
not feel at liberty to make this suggestion. 

But it would not do to continue there, looking at 
her. She might be a very shy person, and if I ap- 
peared shy it would probably make her all the shyer. 
So I spoke. 

“You will find paper,” I said, “in the drawer of your 
table, and there are pens, of different sorts, in that tray.” 

51 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


She opened the drawer, took out some paper, 
and selected a pen, all without turning her head 
toward me. Having broken the ice, I now felt 
impelled to deliver a short lecture on my require- 
ments, but how could I say what I required, without 
knowing what manner of person it was of whom I 
required it? I, therefore, postponed the lecture, and 
determined to begin work without further delay, as 
probably that would be the best way to put us both 
at our ease. But it had been more than two weeks 
since I had done any work, and I could not remember 
what it was that I had been dictating, or endeavoring 
to dictate, to the lady with the malarial husband. I, 
therefore, thought it well to begin at a fresh point, and 
to leave the gap to be filled up afterwards. I felt 
quite sure, when last at work, I had been treating of 
the south of France, and had certainly not reached 
Marseilles. I, therefore, decided to take a header for 
Marseilles, and into Marseilles I plunged. 

As soon as I began to speak the nun began to write, 
and, having at last got her at work, I felt anxious to 
keep her at it, and went steadily on through the 
lively seaport, touching upon one point after another 
as fast as I thought of them, and without regard to 
their proper sequence. But although I sometimes 
skipped from one end of the city to the other, and 
from history to street scenes, I dictated steadily, 
and the nun wrote steadily. She worked rapidly, and 
apparently heard and understood every word I said, 
for she asked no questions and did not hesitate. I 
am sure I never before dictated so continuously. I 
had been in the habit of stopping a good deal to think, 
52 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


not only about my work, but about other things, but 
now I did not wish to stop. 

This amanuensis was very different from any other 
I had had. The others worked to make money for 
themselves, or to please me, or because they liked it. 
This one worked from principle. The money which 
I paid for her labor did not become her money. It 
was paid to the House of Martha. She sat there and 
wrote to promote the principles upon which the 
House of Martha was founded. In fact, so far as I 
was concerned, she was nothing more than a prin- 
ciple. 

How, to interfere with the working of a principle 
is not the right thing to do, and, therefore, I felt im- 
pelled to keep on dictating, which I did until the 
hall door of the secretary’s room was unlocked, and 
the sub- mother walked in. She came forward and 
said a few words to the nun, who stopped writing 
and wiped her pen. The other then turned to me, 
and, in a low voice, asked if the work of the sister 
was satisfactory. I advanced to the grating, and 
answered that I was perfectly satisfied, and was about 
to make some remarks, which I hoped would lead to 
a conversation, when the sub-mother— whose name I 
subsequently learned was Sister Sarah— made a little 
bow, and, saying if that were the case they would 
return at nine the next morning, left the room in 
company with the nun. The latter, when she arose 
from the table, turned her back to me, and went out 
without giving me the slightest opportunity of look- 
ing into her cavernous bonnet. This she did, I must 
admit, in the most natural way possible, which was 
53 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


probably the result of training, and gave one no idea 
of rudeness or incivility. 

When they were gone I was piqued, almost angry 
with myself. I had intended stopping work a little 
before noon, in order to talk to that nun, even if she 
did not answer or look at me. She should discover 
that, if she was a principle, I was, at least, an entity. 
I did not know exactly what I should say to her, but 
it would be something one human being would be 
likely to say to another human being who was working 
for him. If, from the first, I put myself on the proper 
level, she might, in time, get there. But although I 
had lost my present chance, she was coming again the 
next day. 

I entered the secretary’s room by the hall door, and 
looked at the manuscript which had been left on the 
table. It was written in an excellent hand, not too 
large, very legible, and correctly punctuated. Every- 
thing had been done properly, except that, after the 
first three pages, she had forgotten to number the 
leaves at the top, but, as every sheet was placed in 
its proper order, this was an omission which could be 
easily rectified. I was very glad she had made it, 
for it would give me something to speak to her about. 

At luncheon my grandmother asked me how I liked 
the new secretary, and added that, if she did not suit 
me, I could try another next day. I answered that, so 
far, she suited me, and that I had not the least wish, at 
present, to try another. I think my grandmother 
was about to say something regarding this sister, but 
I instantly begged her not to do so. I wished to 
judge her entirely on her merits, I said, and would 
rather not hear anything about her until I had come 
54 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


to a decision as to her abilities. I did not add that I 
felt such an interest in the anticipated discovery of 
the personality of this secretary that I did not wish 
that discovery interfered with. 

In the evening Walkirk inquired about the sister- 
amanuensis, but I merely answered that, so far, she 
had done very well, and dropped the subject. In my 
own mind I did not drop the subject until I fell asleep 
that night. I found myself, from time to time, won- 
dering what sort of a woman was that nun. Was 
she an elderly, sharp -faced creature, a vapid, fat- 
faced creature, or a young and pleasing creature*? 
And when I had asked myself these questions, I 
snubbed myself for taking the trouble to think about 
the matter, and then I began wondering again. 

But upon one point I firmly made up my mind : 
the relationship between my secretary and myself 
should not continue to be that of an entity dictating 
to a principle. 


55 


CHAPTER XII 


EZA 

The next day, when the nun and Sister Sarah entered 
the secretary’s room, I advanced to the grating and 
hade them good morning. They both bowed, and the 
nun took her seat at the table. Sister Sarah then 
turned to me and asked if I had a gold pen, adding 
that the sister was accustomed to writing with one. 
I answered that I had all kinds of pens, and if the 
sister wanted a gold one, it was only necessary to ask 
me for it. I brought several gold pens, and handed 
them through the grating to the sub-mother, who gave 
them to the secretary, and then took her leave, lock- 
ing the door behind her. My nun took one of the 
pens, tried it, arranged the paper, and sat ready to 
write. I stood by the grating, hoping to converse a 
little, if it should be possible. 

“Is there anything else you would like?” I said. 
“If there is, you know, you must mention it.” ; 

She gently shook her head. The idea now occurred 
to me that perhaps my nun was dumb ; but I almost 
instantly thought that this could not be, for dumb 
people were almost always deaf, and she could hear 
well enough. Then it struck me that she might be a 
56 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Trappist nun, and bound by a vow of silence ; but I 
reflected that she was not really a nun, and, conse- 
quently, could not be a Trappist. 

Having been unsuccessful in my first attempt to 
make her speak, and having now stood silent for some 
moments, I felt it might be unwise to make another 
trial just then, for my object would be too plain. I, 
therefore, sat down and began dictating. 

I did not work as easily as I had done on the pre- 
ceding morning, for I intended, if possible, to make 
my nun look at me, or speak, before the hour of noon, 
and thinking of this intention prevented me from 
keeping my mind upon my work. From time to time, 
I made remarks in regard to the temperature of the 
room, the quality of the paper, or something of the 
kind. To these she did not answer at all, or slightly 
nodded, or shook her head in a deprecatory manner, 
as if they were matters not worth considering. 

Then I suddenly remembered the omission of the 
paging, and spoke of that. In answer, she took up 
the manuscript she had written and paged every sheet. 
After this my progress was halting and uneven. In- 
voluntarily, my mind kept on devising plans for mak- 
ing that woman speak, or turn her face toward me. 
If she would do the latter, I would be satisfied, and 
even if she proved to be an unveiled prophetess of 
Khorasan, there would be no further occasion for 
conjectures and wonderings, and I could go on with 
my work in peace. But it made me nervous to re- 
main silent, and see that nun sitting there, pen in 
hand, but motionless as a post, and waiting for me to 
give her the signal to continue the exercise of the 
principle to which her existence was now devoted. 

57 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I went on with my dictation. I had left Marseilles, 
had touched slightly upon Nice, and was now travel- 
ling by carriage on the Cornice Road to Mentone. 
“It was on this road / 7 I dictated, “that an odd in- 
cident occurred to me. We were nearly opposite the 
old robber village of — 77 And then I hesitated and 
stopped. I could not remember the name of the vil- 
lage. I walked up and down my study, rubbing my 
forehead, but the name would not recur to me. I was 
just thinking that I would have to go to the library 
and look up the name of the village, when from out 
of the depths of the nun’s bonnet there came a voice, 
low but distinct, and, I thought, a little impatient, 
and it said, “Eza.” 

“Eza ! Of course ! 77 I exclaimed. “Certainly it is 
Eza ! How could I have forgotten it ! I am very 
much obliged to you for reminding me of the name of 
that village. Perhaps you have been there ? 77 

In answer to this question, I received the least little 
bit of a nod, and the nun’s pen began gently to paw 
the paper, as if it wanted to go on. 

I was now really excited. She had spoken. Why 
should I not do something which should make her 
turn her face toward me— something which would 
take her off her guard, as my forgetfulness had just 
done ? But no idea came to my aid, and I felt obliged 
to begin to dictate the details of the odd incident, 
when suddenly the door opened, Sister Sarah walked 
in, and the morning’s work was over. 

I had not done much, but I had made that nun 
speak. She said “Eza . 77 That was a beginning, and 
I felt confident that I should get on very well in time. 
I was a little sorry that my secretary had been on the 
58 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Cornice Road. I fancied that she might have been 
one of those elderly single women who become Bae- 
deker tourists, and, having tired of this sort of thing, 
had concluded to devote her life to the work of the 
House of Martha. But this was mere idle conjecture. 
She had spoken, and I should not indulge in pes- 
simism. 

I prepared a very good remark with which to greet 
the sub-mother on the next morning, and, although 
addressing Sister Sarah, I would be in reality speaking 
to my nun. I would say how well I was getting on. 
I had thought of saying we were getting on, but re- 
flected afterwards that this would never do. I was 
sure that the House of Martha would not allow, 
under any circumstances, that sister and myself to 
constitute a we. Then I would refer to the help my 
secretary had been to me, and endeavor to express the 
satisfaction which an author must always feel for a 
suggestion of this kind, or any other, from one quali- 
fied to make them. If there was any gratitude or 
vanity in my nun’s heart, I felt I could stir it up, if 
Sister Sarah would listen to me long enough ; and if 
gratitude, or even vanity, could be stirred, the rigidity 
of my nun would be impaired, and she might find 
herself off her guard. 

But I had no opportunity of making my remark. 
At nine o’clock the door of the secretary’s room 
opened, the nun entered, and the door was then 
closed and locked. Sister Sarah must have been in a 
hurry that morning. Just as well as not, I might have 
made my remark directly to my nun, but I did not. 
She walked quickly to the table, arranged her paper, 
opened her inkstand, and sat down. I fancied that I 
59 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


saw a wavy wriggle of impatience in her shawl. Per- 
haps she wanted to know the rest of that odd incident 
near Eza. It may have been that it was impatient 
interest which had impaired her rigidity the day 
before. 

I went on with the odd incident, and made a very 
good thing of it. Even when on well-worn routes of 
travel, I tried to confine myself to out-of-the-way ex- 
periences. Walkirk had been very much interested 
in this affair when I had told it to him, and there was 
no reason why this nun should not also be interested, 
especially as she had seen Eza. 

I finished the narrative, and began another, a rather 
exciting one connected with the breaking of a car- 
riage wheel and an exile from Monte Carlo, but never 
once did curiosity or any other emotion impair the 
rigidity of that nun. She wrote almost as fast as I 
could dictate, and, when I stopped, I know she was 
filled with nervous desire to know what was coming 
next— at least, I fancied that her shawl indicated 
such nervousness. But, hesitate as I might, or say what 
I might,— and I did say a good many things which 
almost demanded a remark or answer, — not one word 
came from her during the whole morning, nor did she 
ever turn the front of her bonnet toward me. 


60 


CHAPTER XIII 


MY FRIEND VESPA 

/ 

I was very much disgusted at the state of affairs. 
Three days had elapsed, and I did not know what 
sort of a human being my secretary was. I might 
as well dictate into a speaking-tube. A phono- 
graph would be better, for, although it might seem 
ridiculous to sit in my room and talk aloud to no one, 
what was I doing now? That nun was the same as 
no one. 

The next day was Sunday, and there would be no 
work, and no chance to solve the problem, which had 
become an actual annoyance to me. But I did not 
intend that this problem should continue to annoy me 
and interfere with my work. I am open and above- 
board myself, and if my secretary did not choose to 
be open and aboveboard, and behave like an ordinary 
human being, she should depart, and I would tell 
Walkirk to get me an ordinary human being, capable 
of writing from dictation, or depart himself. If he 
could not provide me with a suitable secretary, he 
was not the efficient man of business that he claimed 
to be. As to the absurdity of dictating to a mystery 
in a barrow bonnet, I would have no more of it. 

61 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I do not consider myself an ill-tempered person, 
and my grandmother asserts that I have a very good 
temper indeed, but I must admit that on Monday 
morning I felt a little cross, and when Sister Sarah 
and the nun entered my antechamber, I bade them a 
very cold good morning, and allowed the former to go 
without attempting any conversation whatever. The 
nun having arrived, I would not send her away, but 
when the sub-mother came at noon, I intended to 
inform her that I did not any longer desire the ser- 
vices of the writing sister, and if she wished to know 
why, I should tell her plainly. I would not say that 
I would as soon dictate to an inanimate tree-stump, 
but I would express that idea in as courteous terms 
as possible. 

For fifteen minutes I let the nun sit and wait. If 
her principles forbade idleness, I was glad to have a 
crack at her principles. Then I began to dictate 
steadily and severely. I found that the dismissal 
from my mind of all conjectures regarding the per- 
sonality of my secretary was of great service to me, 
and I was able to compose much faster than she could 
write. 

It was about half-past ten, I think, and the morning 
was warm and pleasant, when there gently sailed into 
the secretary’s room, through the open window, a 
wasp. I saw him come in, and I do not think I ever 
beheld a more agreeable or benignant insect. His 
large eyes were filled with the light of a fatherly gra- 
ciousness. His semi-detached body seemed to quiver 
with a helpful impulse, and his long hind legs hung 
down beneath him as though they were outstretched 
to assist, befriend, or succor. With wings waving 
62 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


blessings, and a buzz of cheery greeting, he sailed 
around the room, dipping now here, now there, and 
then circling higher, tapping the ceiling with his 
genial back. 

The moment the nun saw the wasp, a most decided 
thrill ran down the back of her shawl. Then it per- 
vaded her bonnet, and, finally, the whole of her. As 
the beneficent insect sailed down near the table, she 
abruptly sprang to her feet and pushed back her 
chair. I advanced to the grating, but what could I 
do? Seeing me there, and doubtless with the desire 
to immediately assure me of his kindly intentions, my 
friend Yespa made a swoop directly at the front of 
the nun’s bonnet. 

With an undisguised ejaculation, and beating wildly 
at the insect with her hands, the nun bounded to one 
side and turned her face full upon me. I stood 
astounded. I forgot the wasp. 

I totally lost sight of the fact that a young woman 
was in danger of being badly stung. I thought of 
nothing but that she was a young woman, and a most 
astonishingly pretty one, besides. 

The state of terror she was in opened wide her 
lovely blue eyes, half crimsoned her clear white skin, 
and threw her rosy lips and sparkling teeth into the 
most enchanting combinations. 

“Make it go away ! ” she cried, throwing up one 
arm, and thereby pushing back her gray bonnet, and 
exhibiting some of the gloss of her light-brown hair. 
“Can’t you kill it?” 

Most gladly would I have rushed in, and shed with 
my own hands the blood of my friend Yespa, for the 
sake of this most charming young woman, suddenly 
63 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


transformed from a barrow-bonneted principle. But 
I was powerless. I could not break through the grat- 
ing. The other door of the secretary’s room was 
locked. 

“ Don’t strike at it,” I said. “ Remain as motionless 
as you can, then perhaps it will fly away. Striking at 
a wasp only enrages it.” 

“I can’t stay quiet ! ” she cried. “Nobody could ! ” 
And she sprang behind the table, making at the same 
time another slap at the buzzing insect. 

“You will surely be stung,” I said, “if you act in 
that way. If you will slap at the wasp, don’t use 
your hand. Take something with which you can kill 
it.” 

“What can I take?” she exclaimed, now running 
round the table, and stopping close to the grating. 
“Give me something.” 

I hurriedly glanced around my study. I saw 
nothing that would answer for a weapon but a whisk- 
broom, which I seized and endeavored to thrust 
through the meshes of the grating. 

“Oh ! ” she cried, as the wasp made a desperate 
dive close to her face, “give me that, quick. ” And 
she stretched out her hand to me. 

“I cannot,” I replied. “I can’t push it through. It 
won’t go through. Take your bonnet.” 

At this, my nun seized her bonnet by a sort of float- 
ing hood which hung around the bottom of it, and 
jerked it from her head, bringing with it certain flaps 
and ligatures and combs, which, being thus roughly 
removed, allowed a mass of wavy hair to fall about 
her shoulders. 

Waving her bonnet in her hand like a slung-shot, 
64 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


she sprang back and waited for the wasp. When the 
buzzing creature came near enough, she made a 
desperate crack at him, missing him. She struck again 
and again, now high, now low. She dashed from side 
to side of the room, and with one of her mad sweeps 
she scattered a dozen pages of manuscript upon the 
floor. 

The view of this combat was enrapturing to me. 
The face of my nun, now lighted by a passionate deter- 
mination to kill that wasp, was a delight to my eyes. 
If I could have assured myself that the wasp would 
not sting her, I would have helped him to prolong 
the battle indefinitely. But my nun was animated 
by very different emotions. She was bound to be 
avenged upon the wasp, and avenged she was. Al- 
most springing into the air, she made a grand stroke 
at him, as he receded from her, hit him, and dashed 
him against the wall. He fell to the floor, momen- 
tarily disabled, but flapping and buzzing. Then down 
she stooped, and with three great whacks with her 
bonnet she finished the battle. The wasp lay motion- 
less. 

“Now,” she said, throwing her bonnet upon the 
table, “I will close that window.” And she walked 
across the room, her blue eyes sparkling, her face 
glowing from her violent exercise, and her rich brown 
hair hanging in long waves upon her shoulders. 

“Don’t do that,” I said. “It will make your room 
too warm. There is a netting screen in the corner, 
there. If you put that under the sash, it will keep 
out all insects. I wish I could do it for you.” 

She took the frame and fitted it under the sash. 

“I am sorry I did not know that before,” she said, 
65 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


as she returned to her table. “This is a very bad piece 
of business.” 

I begged her to excuse me for not having informed 
her of the screen, but I did not say that I was sorry 
for what had occurred. I merely expressed my grati- 
fication that she had not been stung. Her chair had 
been pushed away from the table, its back against the 
wall opposite to me. She seated herself upon it, gently 
panting. She looked from side to side at the sheets of 
manuscript scattered upon the floor. 

“I will pick them up presently and go to work, but 
I must rest a minute.” She did not now seem to con- 
sider that it was of the slightest consequence whether 
I saw her face, or not. 

“Never mind the papers,” I said. “Leave them 
there. They can be picked up at any time.” 

“I wish that were the worst of it.” And, as she 
spoke, she raised her eyes toward me, and the least 
little bit of a smile came upon her lips, as if, though 
troubled, she could not help feeling the comical ab- 
surdity of the situation. 

“It is simply dreadful,” she continued. “I don’t 
believe such a thing ever before happened to a sister.” 

“There is nothing dreadful about it,” said I. “Do 
you mean to say that the sisters of the House of 
Martha, who go out to nurse, and do all sorts of good 
deeds, never speak to the people they are befriending, 
nor allow them to look upon their faces'? ” 

“Of course,” said she, “you have to talk to sick 
people— otherwise how could you know what they 
need? But this is a different case.” And she began 
to gather up her hair and twist it at the back of her 
head. 


66 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I do not understand / 7 I remarked. “' Why is it a 
different case ? 77 

“It is as different as it can be / 7 said she, picking 
up ber comb from the floor and thrusting it through 
her hastily twisted knot of hair. “I should not have 
come here at all if your grandmother had not posi- 
tively asserted that there would be nothing for me to 
do but to listen and to write. And Mother Anastasia 
and Sister Sarah both of them especially instructed 
me that I was not to speak to you, nor to look at you, 
but simply to sit at the table and work for the good 
of the cause. That was all I had to do, and I am sure 
I obeyed just as strictly as anybody could, except once, 
when you forgot the name of Eza, and I was so anxious 
to have you go on with the incident that I could not 
help mentioning it. Now, I am sure I don’t know 
what I ought to do . 77 

“Do ! 77 I asked. “ There is nothing to do, except 
to begin writing where you left off. The wasp is 
dead . 77 

“I wish it had never been born / 7 she said. “I have 
no doubt that the whole affair should come to an end 
now, and that I ought to go home. But I can’t do that 
until Sister Sarah comes to unlock the door, and so I 
suppose we would better go to work . 77 

“We 77 ! I would not have dared to use that word, 
but it fell from her lips in the easiest and most con- 
ventional manner possible. It was delightful to hear 
it. I never knew before what a pleasant sound the 
word had. She now set herself to work to gather up 
the papers from the floor, and, having arranged them 
in their proper order, she took up her bonnet. 

“Do you have to wear that?” I asked. 

67 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“ Certainly / 7 she answered, clapping it on and pull- 
ing it well forward. 

“I should think it would be very hot and uncom- 
fortable,” I remarked. 

“It is,” she admitted curtly, and, seating herself at 
the table, she took up her pen. 

I now perceived that, if I knew what was good for 
myself, I would cease from speaking on ordinary topics, 
and go on with my dictation. This I did, giving out 
my sentences as rapidly as possible, although, I must 
admit, I took no interest whatever in what I was say- 
ing, nor do I believe that my secretary was interested 
in the subject-matter of my work. She wrote rapidly, 
and, as well as I could judge, appeared excited and 
annoyed. I was excited also, but not in the least 
annoyed. My emotions were of a highly pleasing 
character. We worked steadily for some twenty 
minutes, when, suddenly, she stopped and laid down 
her pen. 

“Of course, it isn’t right to speak,” she said, turning 
in her chair, and speaking to me face to face, as one 
human being to another, “but, as I have said so much 
already, I don’t suppose a little more will make 
matters worse, and I must ask somebody’s help in 
making up my mind what I ought to do. I suspect 
I have made all sorts of mistakes in this writing, but 
I could not keep my thoughts on my work. I have 
been trying my best to decide how I ought to act, but 
I cannot make up my mind.” 

“I shall be delighted to help you, if I can,” I said. 
“What is the point that you cannot decide? ” 

“It is just this,” she replied, fixing her blue eyes 
upon me with earnest frankness : “am I to tell the 
68 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


sisters what has happened, or not? If I tell them, I 
know exactly what will be the result : I shall come 
here no more, and I shall have to take Sister Hannah’s 
place at the Measles Refuge. There’s nothing in this 
world that I hate like measles. I’ve had them, but 
that doesn’t make the slightest difference. Sister 
Hannah has asked to be relieved, and I know she 
wants this place dreadfully.” 

“She cannot come here ! ” I exclaimed. “I don’t 
believe I ever had the measles, and I will not risk 
having them.” 

“She is a stenographer,” said she, “and she will 
most certainly be ordered to take my place if I make 
known what I have done to-day.” 

“Supposing you were sure that you were not obliged 
to go to the Measles Refuge,” I asked, “should you 
still regret giving up this position?” 

“Of course I should,” she answered promptly. “I 
must work at something, or I cannot stay in the 
House of Martha, and there is no work which I like 
so well as this. It interests me extremely.” 

“How, hear me,” said I, speaking perhaps a little 
too earnestly, “and I do not believe any one could 
give you better advice than I am going to give you. 
What has occurred this morning was strictly and 
absolutely an accident. A wasp came in at the win- 
dow and tried to sting you, and there is no woman in 
the world, be she a sister or not, who could sit still 
and let a wasp sting her.” 

“Ho,” she interrupted. “I don’t believe Mother 
Anastasia could do it.” 

“And what followed,” I continued, “was perfectly 
natural, and could not possibly be helped. You were 
69 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


obliged to defend yourself, and in so doing you were 
obliged to act just as any other woman would act. 
Nothing else would have been possible, and the talk- 
ing, and all that, came in with the rest. You couldn’t 
help it.” 

“ That’s the way the matter appeared to me,” said 
she. “But the question would arise, If it was all 
right, why should I hesitate to tell the sisters'?” 

“Hesitate!” I exclaimed. “You should not even 
think of such a thing. No matter what the sisters 
really thought about it, I am sure they would not let 
you come here any more, and you would be sent to 
the measles institution, and thus actually be punished 
for the attempted wickedness of a wasp.” 

“But there is the other side of the matter,” said she. 
“Would it not be wicked in me not to tell them?” 

“Not at all,” I replied. “You do not repeat to the 
sisters all that I tell you to write ? ” 

“Of course not,” she interrupted. 

“And you do not consider it your duty,” I con- 
tinued, “to relate every detail of the business in which 
you are employed?” 

“No,” she said. “They ask me some things, and 
some things I have mentioned to them, such as not 
having a gold pen.” 

“' Very good,” said I. “Now you should consider that 
defending yourself against wasps is just as much your 
business here as anything else. If you are stung, it is 
plain you can’t write, and the interests of your em- 
ployer and of the House of Martha must suffer.” 

“Yes,” she assented, still with the steady gaze of 
her blue eyes. 

“Now, your duty is clear,” I went on. “If the sis- 
70 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


ters ask you if a wasp flew into your room and tried 
to sting you, and you had to jump around and kill it, 
and speak, before you could go on with your work, 
why, of course, you must tell them. But if they don’t 
ask you, don’t tell them. It may seem ridiculous to 
you,” I continued hurriedly, “to suppose that they 
would ask such a question, but I put it in this way to 
show you the principle of the thing.” 

She withdrew her eyes from my face, and fixed them 
upon the floor. 

“The truth of the matter is,” she said presently, 
“that I haven’t done anything wrong— at least, I 
didn’t intend to. I might have crouched down in the 
corner, with my face to the wall, and have covered 
my head and hands with my shawl. But I should have 
been obliged to stay there until Sister Sarah came, 
and I should have been smothered to death— and, be- 
sides, I didn’t think of it. So what I did do was the 
only thing I could do, and I do not think I ought to 
be punished for it.” 

“Now it is settled,” I said. “Your duty is to work 
here for the benefit of your sisterhood, and you should 
not allow a wasp, or any other insect, to interfere with it.” 

She looked at me, and smiled a little abstractedly. 
Then she turned to the table. 

“I will go on with my work,” she said, “and I will 
not say anything to the sisters until I have given the 
matter most earnest and careful consideration. I can 
do that a great deal better at home than I can here.” 

It was very well that she stopped talking and ap- 
plied herself to her work, for I do not believe it was 
ten minutes afterwards when Sister Sarah unlocked 
the door and came in to take her away. 

71 


CHAPTER XIV 


I PAYOR PERMANENCY IN OFFICE 

As soon as my secretary had gone, I went into her 
room and looked for my friend Vespa. I found him 
on the floor, quite dead, hut not demolished. Picking 
him up and carrying him to my study, I carefully 
gummed him to a card. Under his motionless form I 
wrote, “The good services of this friend I shall ever 
keep in grateful remembrance.” Then I pinned the 
card to the wall, between two bookcases. 

During the rest of that day I found myself in a 
state of unreasonable exaltation. Several times I put 
to myself the questions : Why is it that you feel so 
cheerful and so gay ? Why have you the inclination 
to whistle and to dance in your room ? Why do you 
light a cigar, and let it go out through forgetfulness ? 
Why do you answer your grandmother at random, and 
feel an inclinaton to take a long walk by yourself, 
although you know there are people invited to an 
afternoon tea? 

I was not able to give an adequate answer to these 
questions, nor did I very much care to. I knew that 
my high spirits were caused by the discoveries the 
good Vespa had enabled me to make, and the fact 
72 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


that this reason could not be proved adequate did 
not trouble me at all. But prudence and a regard for 
my own interests made it very plain to me that other 
people should not know I had been exalted, and how. 
If I desired my nun to continue as my secretary, I 
must not let any one know that I cared in the least 
to hear her voice, or to have the front of her bonnet 
turned toward me. 

At dinner that day my grandmother remarked to 
me : “Are you still satisfied with the House of Mar- 
tha’s sister*? Does she do your work as you wish to 
have it done ! ” 

I leaned back in my chair, and answered with 
deliberation : “Yes, I think she will do very well, and 
that after more practice she will do better. As it is, 
she is industrious and attentive. I place great stress 
upon that point, for I do not like to repeat my sen- 
tences. But she has a quick ear, and catches every 
word.” 

“Then,” asked my grandmother, “you do not wish 
to make a change at present 1 ?” 

“Oh, no,” I said. “It would be very annoying to 
begin again with a new amanuensis. I am getting 
accustomed to this person, and that is a very impor- 
tant matter with me. So I do not wish to make any 
change so long as this sister does her work prop- 
erly.” 

“I must say,” resumed my grandmother, after a 
little pause, in which she seemed to be considering 
the subject, “that I was not altogether in favor of 
that young woman taking the position of your secre- 
tary. She can have had but little experience, and I 
thought that an older and steadier person would an- 
73 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


swer your purpose much better. But this one was 
unemployed at the time, and wished very much to 
do literary work, and as the institution needed the 
money you would pay, which would probably amount 
to a considerable sum if your book should be a long 
one, and as you were in a great hurry, and might en- 
gage some one from the city if one of the Martha 
sisters were not immediately available, Mother Anas- 
tasia and I concluded that it would be well to send 
this young person until one of the older sisters, com- 
petent for the work, should be disengaged. I thought 
you would be very anxious to have this change made 
as soon as possible, so that you might feel that you 
had a permanent secretary.” 

“Oh, no,” said I, trying very hard not to appear 
too much in earnest. “This person is very steady, 
and there is a certain advantage in her being young, 
without much experience as a secretary. I wish any 
one who writes for me to work in my way, and if 
such a person has been accustomed to work in other 
people’s ways, annoyance and interruption must surely 
result, and that I wish very much to avoid. A secre- 
tary should be a mere writing-machine, and I do not 
believe an elderly person could be that. She would 
be sure to have notions how my work should, or should 
not, be done, and, in some way or other, would make 
those notions evident.” 

“I don’t quite agree with you,” said my grand- 
mother, “but, of course, you know your own business 
better than I do. And I suppose, after all, it doesn’t 
make much difference whether the sister is young, or 
not. They all dress alike, and all look ugly alike. I 
don’t suppose there would be anything attractive 
74 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


about the Yenus de Milo, if she wore a coal-scuttle 
bounet and a gray woollen shawl.” 

“No,” I answered, “especially if she kept the open- 
ing of her coal-scuttle turned down over her paper, as 
if she were about to empty coals upon it.” 

“That’s very proper,” said my grandmother, speak- 
ing a little more briskly. “All she has to do is to 
keep her eyes on her work, and I suppose, from what 
you say, that the flaps of her bonnet do not interfere 
with her keeping her ears on you. But, if at any time, 
you desire to make a change, all you have to do is to 
let me know, and I can easily arrange the matter.” 

I promised that I would certainly let her know in 
case I had such a desire. 

That evening Walkirk remarked to me that he 
thought nothing could be more satisfactory for me 
than to have on tap, so to speak, an institution like 
the House of Martha, from which I could draw a 
secretary whenever I wanted one, and keep her for 
as long or as short a time as pleased me, and to have 
this supply in the immediate neighborhood was an 
extraordinary advantage. 

I agreed that the arrangement was a very good 
one, and I think he was about to ask some questions 
in regard to my nun, but I began my recital, and cut 
off any further conversation on the subject. 

My monologue was rather disjointed that evening, 
for my mind was occupied with other things, or, more 
strictly speaking, another thing. I felt quite sure, 
however, that Walkirk did not notice my preoccu- 
pation, for he gave the same earnest and interested 
attention to my descriptions which he had always 
shown, and which made him such an agreeable and 
75 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


valuable listener. Indeed, his manner put me at my 
ease, because, on account of the wandering of my 
mind, his general expression indicated that, if I found 
it necessary to pause in order that I might arrange 
what I should say next, he was very glad of the op- 
portunity thus given him to reflect upon what I had 
just said. He was an admirable listener. 


76 


CHAPTER XY 


HOW WE WENT BACK TO GENOA 

The next morning I awaited with considerable per- 
turbation of mind the arrival of my nun. I felt 
assured that, after the occurrences of the previous 
day, there must certainly be some sort of a change in 
her. She could not go on exactly as she had gone on 
before. The nature of this anticipated change con- 
cerned me very much — too much, I assured myself. 
Would she be more rigid and repellent than she had 
been before the advent of the wasp ? But this would 
be impossible. On the other hand, would she be more 
like other people? Would she relax a little, and 
work like common secretaries? Or,— and I whistled 
as I thought of it,— having once done so, would she 
permanently cut loose from the absurdities enjoined 
upon her by the House of Martha people, and look 
at me and talk to me in the free, honest, ingenuous, 
frank, sincere, and thoroughly sensible manner in 
which she had spoken to me the day before ? 

After revolving these questions in my mind for 
some time, another one rudely thrust itself upon me : 
Would she come at all? It was already seven minutes 
past nine. She had never been so late. How that I 
77 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


came to think of it, this would be the most natural 
result of the wasp business. The thought shocked 
me. I ceased to walk up and down my study, and 
stopped whistling. I think my face must have 
flushed. I know my pulse beat faster. My eyes fell 
upon the body of him who I believed had been my 
friend. I felt like crushing his remains with my fist. 
He had been my enemy ! He had shown me what I 
had to lose, and he had made me lose it. 

Even in the midst of my agitation, this thought 
made me smile. How much I was making of this 
affair of my secretary ! What difference, after all— 
But I did not continue the latter question. It did 
make a difference, and it was of no use to reason 
about it. What was I to do about it? That was 
more to the point. 

At this instant, my nun, followed by Sister Sarah, 
entered the adjoining room. The latter merely 
bowed to me, went out, and locked the door behind 
her. I was very glad she did not speak to me, for the 
sudden revulsion of feeling produced by the appear- 
ance of the two would have prevented my answering 
her coherently. I do not know whether my nun 
bowed, or not. If she did, the motion was very slight. 
She took her seat and prepared for work. I did not 
say anything, for I did not know what to say. The 
proper thing to do, in order to relieve my embarrass- 
ment and hers,— that is, if she had any, — was to begin 
work at once ; but, for the life of me, I could not re- 
member whether my dictation of the day before con- 
cerned Sicily or Egypt. I did not like to ask her, 
for that would seem like a trick to make her speak. 

But it would not do to keep her sitting there with 
78 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


an idle pen in her hand. I must say something. So I 
blurted out some remarks concerning the effect of the 
climate of the Mediterranean upon travellers from 
northern countries, and while doing this I tried my 
best to remember where, on the shores of this con- 
founded sea, I had been the day before. 

Philosophizing and generalizing were, however, not 
in my line : I was accustomed to deal with action and 
definite observation, and I soon dropped the climate 
of the Mediterranean, and went to work on some of 
the soul-harrowing improvements in the Eternal City, 
alluding with particular warmth to the banishment of 
the models from the Spanish Stairs. hTow the work 
went on easily, but I was gloomy and depressed. My 
nun sat at the table, more like a stiff, gray-enveloped 
principle than ever before. I did not feel at liberty 
even to make a remark about the temperature of the 
room. I feared that whatever I said might be con- 
strued into an attempt to presume upon the accidental 
intercourse of the day before. 

For half an hour or more she went on with the 
work, but, during a pause in my dictation, she sat up 
straight in her chair and laid down her pen. Then, 
without turning her face to me, she began to speak. 
I stood open-mouthed and, I need not say, de- 
lighted. Whatever her words might be, it rejoiced 
me to hear them— to know that she voluntarily recog- 
nized my existence, and desired to communicate with 
me. 

“I have spoken to Mother Anastasia,” she said, her 
voice directed toward the screen in the open window, 
“and I told her that it was impossible for me to work 
without sometimes saying a few words to ask for what 
79 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I need, or to request you to repeat a word which I did 
not catch. Since I began to write, I have lost no less 
than twenty- three words. I have left blanks for them, 
and made memoranda of the pages, but, as I said to 
her, if this sort of thing went on, you would forget 
what words you had intended to use, and, when you 
came to read the manuscript, you could not supply 
them, and that, therefore, I was not doing my work 
properly, and honestly earning the money which 
would be paid to the institution. I also told her that 
you sometimes forgot where you left off the day be- 
fore, and that I ought to read you a few lines of what 
I had last written, in order that you might make the 
proper connection. I think this is very necessary, for 
to-day you have left an awful gap. Yesterday we 
were writing about that old Crusader’s bank in Genoa, 
and now you are at work at Rome, when we haven’t 
even started for that city.” 

Each use of this word “we ” was to me like a strain 
of music from the heavens. 

“Do you think I did right?” she added. 

“Right ! ” I exclaimed. “Most assuredly you did. 
Nothing could be more helpful, and, in fact, more 
necessary, than to let me know just where I left off. 
What did the sisters say ? ” 

“I spoke only to Mother Anastasia,” she replied. 
“She considered the matter a little while, and then 
said that she could see there must be times when you 
would require some information from me in regard to 
the work, and that there could be no reasonable ob- 
jection to my giving such information, but she re- 
minded me that the laws of the House of Martha 
require that the sisters must give their sole attention 
80 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


to the labor upon which they are employed, and must 
not indulge, when so engaged, in any conversation, 
even among themselves, that is not absolutely neces- 
sary.” 

“Mother Anastasia is very sensible,” said I, “and, 
if I were to see her, I should be happy to express my 
appreciation of her good advice upon the subject. 
And, by the way, did she tell you that it was neces- 
sary to wear that hot bonnet while you are working ? ” 

“She did not say anything about it,” she answered. 
“It was not needful. We always wear our bonnets 
outside of the House of Martha.” 

I was about to make a further remark upon the 
subject, but restrained myself. It was incumbent on 
me to be very prudent. There was a pause, and then 
she spoke again. 

“You are not likely to see Mother Anastasia,” she 
said, “but please do not say anything on the subject 
to Sister Sarah. She is very rigorous, and would not 
approve of talking, under any circumstances. In fact, 
she does not approve of my coming here at all.” 

“What earthly reason can she have for that?” I 
asked. 

“She thinks it’s nonsensical for you to have a secre- 
tary,” she answered, “and that it would be much better 
for you to do your own work, and make a gift of the 
money to the institution, and then I could go and 
learn to be a nurse. I only mention these things to 
show you that it would be well not to talk to her of 
Mother Anastasia’s good sense.” 

“You may rest assured,” said I, “that I shall not 
say a word to her.” 

“And now,” said she, “shall we put aside what I 
81 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


have written to-day, and go back to Genoa? The 
last thing you dictated yesterday was this : 6 Into this 
very building once came the old Crusaders to borrow 
money for their journeys to the Holy Land.’ 77 

We went to Genoa. 

“How admirably/ 7 1 exclaimed, when she had gone, 
“with what wonderful tact and skill, she has managed 
the whole affair ! Not one word about the occur- 
rences of yesterday, not an allusion which could em- 
barrass either herself or me. If only she had looked 
at me ! But she had probably received instructions 
on that point which she did not mention, and it is 
easy to perceive that she is honest and conscientious.’ 7 

But, after all, it was not necessary that I should see 
her face. I had seen it, and I could never forget it. 

Whistling was not enough for me that day. I sang. 

“What puts you into such remarkably good spirits ? 77 
asked my grandmother. “Have you reached an un- 
usually interesting part of your work ? 77 

“Indeed, I have, 77 I answered, and I gave her such ft 
a glowing account of the way the Bed Cross Knights, 
the White Cross Knights, and the Black Cross Knights 
clanked through the streets of Genoa, before setting 
sail to battle for the Great Cross, that the cheeks of 
the old lady flushed and her eyes sparkled with en- 
thusiastic emotion. 

“I don’t wonder it kindles your soul to write about 
such things, 77 she said. 


82 


CHAPTEK XVI 

I RUN UPON A SAND-BAR 

Day by day, the interest of my nnn in ber work ap- 
peared to increase. Every morning, so soon as she 
sat down at her table, she read to me the concluding 
portion of what had been written the day before, and, 
if a Sunday intervened, she gave me a page or more. 
Her interest was manifested in various ways. Sev- 
eral times she so far forgot the instructions she must 
have received as to turn her face toward me when 
asking me to repeat something that she did not catch, 
and on such occasions I could not for some moments 
remember what I had said, or, indeed, what I was about 
to say. 

Once she stopped writing, and, turning half round 
in her chair, looked fairly at me, and said that she 
thought I had made a mistake in saying that visitors 
were not allowed to go up the Tower of Pisa without 
a guide, for she, with two other ladies, had gone to 
the top without any one accompanying them. But 
she thought it was very wrong to allow people to do 
this, and that I should be doing a service to travellers 
if I were to say something on the subject. 

Of course, I replied that I would make the correc- 
83 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


tion, and that I would say something about the care- 
lessness to which she referred. Then there ensued a 
pause, during which she turned her face toward the 
window, imagining, I have no doubt, that I was busy 
endeavoring to compose something suitable to say 
upon the subject. But I was not thinking of anything 
of the sort. I was allowing my mind to revel in the 
delight which I had had in looking at her while she 
spoke. When her pen began to scratch impatiently 
upon the paper, I plunged into some sort of a homily 
on the laxity of vigilance in leaning towers. But, 
even while dictating this, I was wondering what she 
would look like if, instead of that gray shawl and 
gown, she were arrayed in one of the charming cos- 
tumes which often make even ordinary young ladies 
so attractive. 

As our daily work went on, my nun relaxed more 
frequently her proscribed rigidity, and became more 
and more like an ordinary person. When she looked 
at me or spoke, she always did so in such an unpre- 
meditated manner, and with such an obvious’ good 
reason, that I could not determine whether her 
change of manner was due to accumulative forgetful- 
mess, or to a conviction that it was absurd to continue 
to act a part which was not only unnatural, under the 
circumstances, but which positively interfered with 
the work in hand. Some of her suggestions were of 
the greatest service, but I fear that the value of what 
she said was not as fully appreciated as was the pleas- 
ure of seeing and hearing her say it. 

Thus joyously passed the hours of work, and in the 
hours when I was not working I looked forward with 
glad anticipation to the next forenoon. But, after a 
84 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

time, I began to be somewhat oppressed by the fear 
that my work would come to an end, before long, for 
want of material. I was already nearing the southern 
limit of my travels, and my return northward had not 
been productive of the sort of subject-matter I desired. 
In my recitals to alkirk I had gone much more into 
detail regarding my experiences, and had talked 
about a great many things which it had been pleasant 
to talk about, but which I did not consider good 
enough to put into my book. In dictating to my nun, 
I had carefully sifted the mass to which Walkirk had 
listened, and had used only such matter as I thought 
would interest her and the general reader. My high 
regard for the intelligence of my secretary and her 
powers of appreciation had led me to discard too 
much, and, therefore, there was danger that my supply 
of subject-matter would give out before my nun grew 
to be an elderly woman. And this I did not desire. 

I had read and heard enough of the travels of 
others to be able to continue my descriptions of for- 
eign countries for an indefinite period, but I had 
determined, from the first, that nothing should go 
into my book except my own actual experiences, and, 
therefore, I could not rely upon other books for the 
benefit of mine. But, in considering the matter, I 
concluded that, if my material should be entirely my 
own, it would answer my purpose to make that mate- 
rial what I pleased, and thus it happened that I 
determined to weave a story into my narrative. This 
plan, I assured myself, would be in perfect harmony 
with the design of my work. The characters could be 
drawn from the people whom I had met in my travels, 
the scenes could be those which I had visited, and 
85 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


the plot and tone of the story could be made to aid 
the reader in understanding the nature of the country 
and the people of which it was told. More than all, 
I could make the story as long as I pleased. 

This was a capital idea, and I began immediately 
to work upon it. I managed the story very deftly— 
at least, that was my opinion. My two principal 
characters made their appearance in Sicily, and at 
first were so intermingled with scenery and incidents 
as not to be very prominent. Then they came more to 
the front, and other characters introduced themselves 
upon occasion. As these personages appeared and 
reappeared, I hoped that they would gradually sur- 
round themselves with an interest which would 
steadily increase the desire to know more and more 
about them. Thus, as I went on, I said less and less 
about Sicily, and more and more about my characters, 
especially the young man and the young woman, the 
curious blending of whose lives I was endeavoring to 
depict. 

This went on very smoothly for a few days, and 
then, about eleven o’clock one morning, my nun sud- 
denly leaned back in her chair and laid down her pen. 
“I cannot write any more of this,” she said, looking out 
of the window. 

I was so astonished that I could scarcely ask her 
what she meant. 

“This is love-making,” she continued, “and with 
love-making the sisters of the House of Martha can 
have nothing to do. It is one of our principal rules 
that we must not think about it, read about it, or talk 
about it, and, of course, it would have been forbidden 
to write about it, if such a contingency had ever been 
86 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


thought of. Therefore, I cannot do any more work of 
that kind.” 

In vain I expostulated, in vain I told her that this 
was the most important part of my book, in vain I 
declaimed about the absurdity of such a regulation, in 
vain I protested, in vain I reasoned. She shook her 
head, and said there was no use talking about it. She 
knew the rules, and should obey them. 

I had been standing near the grating, but now I 
threw myself into a chair, and sat silent, wondering 
what I should do. Must I give up this most admi- 
rable plan of carrying on my work, simply because 
those foolish sisters had made absurd rules for them- 
selves? Must I wind up my book for want of mate- 
rial f Not for a moment did I think of getting another 
secretary, or of selecting some other sort of that stuff 
which literary people call padding, for the purpose 
of prolonging my pleasant labors. I was becoming 
interested in the love-story I had begun, and I 
wanted to go on with it, and I believed, also, that it 
would be of great advantage to my book. But, on the 
other hand, it was plain that my nun would not write 
this story, and it was quite as plain to me that I could 
not insist upon anything which would cause her to 
leave me. 

“Don’t you think,” she said presently, still looking 
toward the window, “that we would better do some sort 
of work for the rest of the morning? It is not right 
for me to sit here idle. Suppose you try to supply 
some of the words which were left out of the manu- 
script in the first days of my writing for you.” 

“Very well,” said I ; and, taking up her memoranda, 
she began to look for the vacant spaces which she had 
87 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


left in the manuscript pages. I supplied very few 
words, for, to save my life, I could not at this moment 
bring my mind to bear upon such trifles, but it was 
pretence of work, and better than embarrassing idle- 
ness. Before my secretary left me I must think of 
something to say to her in regard to the work for 
to-morrow. But what should I say? Should I tell her 
I would drop the story, or that I would modify it so 
as to make it feasible for her to write? Something 
must quickly be decided upon, and while I was tumul- 
tuously revolving the matter in my mind, twelve 
o’clock and the sub-mother came. My secretary went 
away, with nothing but the little bow which she was 
accustomed to make when leading the room. 


88 


CHAPTER XVII 

REGARDING THE ELUCIDATION OF NATIONAL 
CHARACTERISTICS 

I was left in my study in a very unpleasant state of 
mind. I was agitated and apprehensive. Perhaps 
that young woman would not come any more. I had 
not told her that I was going to stop writing about 
love, and there was every reason to suppose she would 
not return. What an imbecile I had been ! I had 
done nothing, because I could not think of exactly 
the right thing to do. 

I now felt that I must ask the advice of somebody 
in regard to this embarrassing and important affair. 
For a moment I thought of my grandmother, but she 
would be sure to begin by advising me to change my 
secretary. She seldom urged me to do what I did 
not want to do, but if I offered her a chance to give 
me advice on this occasion, I knew what would be 
uppermost in her mind. 

So I put on my hat, and went to Walkirk, at the 
inn. I found him at work on a mass of accounts, 
dating back for years, which I had given him to 
adjust. With great circumspection I laid before him 
this new affair. 


89 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“You see,” said I, “she is a first-class secretary. 
She has learned to do my work as I like it done, and 
I do not wish to make a change ; on the other hand, 
I do not care to alter the plan of my book.” 

Walkirk was always very respectful, but he could 
not restrain a smile at the situation. 

“It does seem to me,” he said, “a very funny thing 
to dictate a love-story to one of the sisters of the 
House of Martha. Of course, they are not nuns,— they 
are not even Roman Catholics,— but they are just as 
strict and strait-laced about certain things as if their 
house were really a convent. So far as I can see, 
there is but one thing to do, and that is to confine 
yourself to descriptions of travel. And perhaps it 
would be] well to let your secretary know, in some way, 
that you intend to do so $ otherwise, I think she may 
throw up the business, and that would be a pity.” 

It sometimes surprises me to discover what an ob- 
stinate person I am. When I want to do a thing, it 
is very difficult for me to change my mind. 

“She must not throw up the business,” I said, “and 
I do not see how I can leave out the story. I have 
planned it far ahead, and, to discard it, I should have 
to go back and cut and mangle a great deal of good 
work that I have done.” 

Walkirk reflected. 

“I admit,” he replied, “that that would be very 
discouraging. Perhaps we can think of some plan of 
getting out of the difficulty.” 

“I hope you can do that,” said I, “for I cannot.” 

“How would this do?” he asked, presently. “Sup- 
pose I go and see Mother Anastasia this afternoon, 
and try to make her look at this matter from a 
90 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


strictly business point of view. I can tell her that 
the sort of thing you are doing is purely literature, 
that you can’t keep such things out of literature, and 
that the people who engage in the mechanical work 
of literature cannot help running against those things, 
at one time or another. I can try to make her under- 
stand what an advantageous connection this is, and 
what a great injury to the House of Martha it would 
be if it should be broken off. I can tell her that it is 
not improbable that you may take to writing as a 
regular business, and that you may give profitable 
employment to the sisters for years and years. There 
are a good many other things I might say, and you 
may be sure I shall do my very best.” 

“Go,” I said, “but be very careful about what you 
say. Don’t make her think that I am too anxious to 
retain this particular sister, but make her understand 
that I do not wish to begin all over again with another 
one. Also, do not insist too strongly on my desire to 
write a love-story, but put it to her that, when I plan 
out work, of course I want to do the work as I have 
planned it. Try to keep these important points in 
your mind, then you can urge common sense upon 
her as much as you please.” 

I sent a note to my grandmother saying that I 
should not be home to luncheon, and, after having 
taken a bite at the inn, I set out for a long walk. It 
was simply impossible for me to talk about common 
things until this matter was settled. 

It was about the middle of the afternoon when I 
returned to the inn, and Walkirk had not come back. 
I went away again, took a turn through the woods, 
and, on approaching the inn, I saw him walking down 
91 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


the shady road which led from the House of Martha. 
I hurried to .meet him. 

So soon as he was near enough, Walkirk, with a 
beaming face, called out : 

“All right, sir. I have settled that little matter for 
you.” 

“How? What?” I exclaimed. “What have you 
done ? ” 

We had now reached each other, and stood together 
by the side of the road. 

“Well,” said my under-study, “I have seen Mother 
Anastasia, and I have found her a very sensible 
woman— an admirable woman, I assure you. She 
was a good deal surprised when I told her my errand, 
for that was the first she had heard of the love-story— 
in fact, I suppose your secretary had not had time to 
tell her about it. She commended the sister highly 
for her refusal to write it, saying that her action was 
in strict accordance with the spirit of their rules. 
When she had finished saying all she had to say on 
that point, I presented your side of the question, and 
I assure you, sir, that I clapped on it a very bright 
light, so that, if she did not see its strong points, the 
fault must be in her own eyes. As the event proved, 
there was nothing the matter with her eyes. I shall 
not try to repeat what I said, but I began by ex- 
plaining to her the nature of your work, and showed 
her how impossible it was for you to write about 
foreign countries without referring to their people, 
and how you could not speak of the people without 
mentioning their peculiar manners and customs, and 
that this story was nothing more nor less than an in- 
terweaving of some of the characteristics of the people 
92 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


of Sicily with the descriptions of the country. Thus 
much I inferred from your remarks about the story. 

“I persisted that, although such characteristics had 
no connection with the life of the sisters of the House 
of Martha, they were a part of the world which you 
were describing, and that it could be no more harm 
for a sister, working for wages and the good of the 
cause, to assist in that description, than it would be 
for one of them to make lace to be worn at a wed- 
ding— a ceremony with which the sisters could have 
nothing to do, and which, in connection with them- 
selves, they could not even think about. This point 
made an impression on Mother Anastasia, and, having 
thought about it a minute or two, she said there was 
a certain force in it. 

“Then she asked me if this narrative of yours was 
a strongly accentuated love-story. Here she had me 
at a disadvantage, for I have not heard it, but I as- 
sured her that, knowing the scope and purpose of 
your work, I did not believe that you would accent- 
uate any portion of it more than was absolutely 
necessary. 

“After some silent consideration, Mother Anastasia 
said she would go and speak with the sister who had 
been doing your work. She was gone a good while, 
—at least, it seemed so to me,— and when she came 
back, she said that she had been making inquiries of 
the sister, and had come to the conclusion that there 
was no good reason why the House of Martha should 
not continue to assist you in the preparation of your 
book.” 

“Did she say she would send the same sister?” I 
asked quickly. 


93 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“No, she did not,” answered Walkirk. “But, not 
wishing to put the question too pointedly, I first 
thanked her, on your behalf, for the kindly considera- 
tion she had given the matter. I then remarked— 
without intimating that you said anything about it 
—that I hoped nothing would occur to retard the 
progress of the work, and that the present arrange- 
ment might continue without changes of any kind, 
because I knew that, when you were dictating, your 
mind was completely absorbed by your mental labors, 
and that any alteration in your hours of work, or the 
necessity of explaining your methods to a new amanu- 
ensis, annoyed and impeded you. To this she replied 
that it was quite natural you should not desire changes, 
and that everything should go on as before.” 

“Walkirk,” I exclaimed, “you are a trump !” In 
my exuberant satisfaction, I would have clapped him 
on the back. But it would not do to be so familiar 
with an under-study, and, besides, I did not wish him 
to understand the extent of my delight at the result 
of his mission. That sort of thing I liked to keep to 
myself. 


94 


CHAPTER XVIII 

AN ILLEGIBLE WORD 

Every morning there seemed to be some reason or 
other why I should anticipate with an animated in- 
terest the coming of my secretary, and on the morning 
after what I might call her “strike ” the animation of 
said interest was very apparent to me, but, I hope, not 
to any one else. Over and over I said to myself that 
I must not let my nun see that I was greatly pleased 
with Walkirk’s intervention. It would be wise to 
take the result as a matter of course. 

As the clock struck nine, she and Sister Sarah en- 
tered the anteroom, and the latter advanced to the 
grating and looked into my study, peering from side 
to side. I did not like this sister’s face. She looked 
as if she had grown unpleasantly plump on watered 
milk. 

“Is it necessary,” she asked, “that you should smoke 
tobacco during your working hours ? ” 

“I never do it,” I replied indignantly,— “never ! ” 

“Several times,” she said, “I have thought I per- 
ceived the smell of tobacco smoke in this sister’s gar- 
ments.” 

“You are utterly mistaken ! ” I exclaimed. “During 
95 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


the hours of work these rooms are perfectly free from 
anything of the sort.” 

She gave a little grunt, and departed, and, when she 
had locked the door, I could not restrain a slight ejacu- 
lation of annoyance. 

“You must not mind Sister Sarah,” said the sweet 
voice of my nun, behind the barricade of her bonnet. 
“She is as mad as hops this morning.” 

“What is the matter with her?” I asked, my angry 
feelings disappearing in an instant. 

“She and Mother Anastasia have had a long discus- 
sion about the message you sent in regard to my 
keeping on with the story. Sister Sarah is very much 
opposed to my doing your writing at all.” 

“Well, as she is not the head of your house, I sup- 
pose we need not trouble ourselves about that,” I 
replied. “But how does the arrangement suit you? 
Are you satisfied to continue to write my little story ? ” 

“Satisfied ! ” she said. “I am perfectly delighted ! ” 
And, as she spoke, she turned toward me, her eyes 
sparkling, and her face lighted by the most entrancing 
smile I ever beheld on the countenance of woman. 
“This is a thousand times more interesting than any- 
thing you have done yet, although I liked the rest 
very much. Of course, I stopped when I supposed it 
was against our rules to continue, but now that I 
know it is all right, I am— But no matter ! let us go 
on with it. This is what I last wrote,” and she read : 
U( Tomaso and the pretty Lucilla now seated them- 
selves on the rock, by a little spring. He was trying 
to look into her lovely blue eyes, which were slightly 
turned away from him and veiled by their long lashes. 
There was something he must say to her, and he felt 
96 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


he could wait no longer. Gently he took the little 
hand which lay nearest him, and—’ There is where 
I stopped,” she said, and then, her face still bright, 
but with the smile succeeded by an air of earnest con- 
sideration, she asked, “Do you object to suggestions ? ” 

“Not at all,” said I. “When they are to the point, 
they help me.” 

“Well, then,” she said, “I wouldn’t have her eyes 
blue. Italian girls nearly always have black or brown 
eyes. It is hard to think of this girl as a blonde.” 

“Oh, but her eyes are blue,” I said. “It would not 
do at all to have them anything else. Some Italian 
girls are that way. At any rate, I couldn’t alter her 
in my mind.” 

“Perhaps not,” she replied, “but in thinking about 
her she always seems to me to have black eyes. How- 
ever, that is a matter of no importance, and I am 
ready to go on.” 

Thus, on matters strictly connected with business, 
my nun and I conversed, and then we went on with 
our work. I think that, from the very beginnings of 
literature, there could have been no author who de- 
rived from his labors more absolute pleasure than I 
derived from mine. Never was a story more interest- 
ing to tell than the story of Tomaso and Lucilla. It 
proved to be a very long one,— much longer than I had 
supposed I could make it,— and sometimes I felt that 
it was due to the general character of my book that I 
should occasionally insert some description of scenery 
or instances of travel. 

My secretary wrote as fast as I could dictate, and 
sometimes wished, I think, that I would dictate faster. 
She seldom made comments, unless she thought it 
97 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


absolutely necessary to do so, but there were certain 
twitches and movements of her head and shoulders 
which might indicate emotions, such as pleasant ex- 
citement at the sudden development of the situation, 
or impatience at my delay in the delivery of interest- 
ing passages, and I imagined that during the inter- 
polation of descriptive matter she appeared to be 
anxious to get through with it as quickly as possible, 
and to go on with the story. 

It was my wish to make my book a very large one. 
It was, therefore, desirable to be economical with the 
material I had left, and to eke it out as much as I 
could with fiction, but, upon considering the matter, I 
became convinced that it could not be very long be- 
fore the material which, in any way, could be con- 
nected with the story must give out, and that, there- 
fore, it would have to come to an end. How I wished 
I had spent more time in Sicily ! I would have liked 
to write a whole book about Sicily. 

Of course, I might take the lovers to other countries, 
but I had not planned anything of this kind, and it 
would require some time to work it out. Now, how- 
ever, a good idea occurred to me, which would post- 
pone the conclusion of the interesting portion of my 
work. I would have my secretary read what she had 
written. This would give me time to think out more 
of the story, and it is often important that an author 
should know what he has done before he goes on to 
do more. AVe had arrived at a point where the nar- 
rative could easily stop for a while, Tomaso having 
gone on a fishing voyage, and the middle-aged inn- 
keeper, whose union with Lucilla was favored by her 
mother and the village priest, having departed for 
98 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Naples to assume the guardianship of two very hand- 
some young women, the daughters of an old friend, 
recently deceased. 

When I communicated to my nun my desire to 
change her work from writing to reading, she seemed 
surprised, and asked if there were not danger that I 
might forget how I intended to end the story. I re- 
assured her on this point, and she appeared to resign 
herself to the situation. 

“ Shall I begin with the first page of the manuscript,” 
said she, “or read only what I have written? ” 

“Oh, begin at the very beginning,” I said. “I want 
to hear it all.” 

Then she began, hesitating a little, at times, over the 
variable chirography of my first amanuensis. I drew 
up my chair near to the grating, but before she had 
read two pages I asked her to stop for a moment. 

“I think,” said I, “it will be impossible for me to 
get a clear idea of what you are reading, unless you 
turn and speak in my direction. You see, the sides 
of your bonnet interfere very much with my hearing 
what you say.” 

For a few moments she remained in her ordinary 
position, and then she slowly turned her chair toward 
me. I am sure she had received instructions against 
looking into my study, which was filled with objects 
calculated to attract the attention of an intelligent 
and cultivated person. Then she read the manuscript, 
and, as she did so, I said to myself, over and over again, 
that for her to read to me was a thousand times more 
agreeable than for me to dictate to her. 

As she read, her eyes were cast down on the pages 
which she held in her hand, but frequently, when I 
99 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


made a correction, they were raised to mine, as she 
endeavored to understand exactly what I wanted her 
to do. I made a good many alterations which, I think, 
improved the work very much. 

Once she found it utterly impossible to decipher a 
certain word of the manuscript. She scrutinized it 
earnestly, and then, her mind entirely occupied by 
her desire properly to read the matter, she rose and 
came close to the grating, holding the page so that I 
could see it. 

“Can you make out this word?” she asked. “I 
cannot imagine how any one could write so care- 
lessly.” 

I sprang to my feet and stood close to the grating. 
I could not take the paper from her, and it was neces- 
sary for her to hold it. I examined the word, letter 
by letter. I gave my opinion of each letter, and I 
asked her opinion. It was a most illegible word. A 
good many things interfered with my comprehension 
of it. Among these were the two hands with which 
she held up the page, and another was the idea which 
came to me that in the House of Martha the sisters 
were fed on violets. I am generally quite apt at de- 
ciphering bad writing, but never before had I shown 
myself so slow and obtuse at this sort of thing. 

Suddenly a thought struck me. I glanced at the 
clock in my study. It wanted ten minutes of twelve. 

“It must be,” said I, “that that word is intended to 
be ‘heaven-given.’ At any rate, we will make it that. 
And now, I think I will get you to copy the last part 
of that page. You can do it on the back of the sheet.” 

She was engaged in this writing when Sister Sarah 
came in. 


100 


CHAPTER XIX 


GRAY ICE 

During the engagement of my present secretary, a 
question had frequently arisen in my mind, which I 
wished to have answered, but which I had hesitated 
to ask, for fear the sister should imagine it indicated 
too much personal interest in her. This question 
related to her name, and now it was really necessary 
for me to know it. I did not wish any longer to speak 
to her as if she were merely a principle. She had be- 
come a most decided entity. However harsh and 
gray and woolly her name might be, I wanted to 
know it, and to hear it from her own lips. The next 
morning I asked her what it was. 

She was sitting at the table arranging the pages 
she was going to read, and, at the question, she turned 
toward me. Her face was flushed, but not, I think, 
with displeasure. 

“Do you know,” she said, “it has seemed to me the 
funniest thing in the world that you have never cared 
the least bit to know my name.” 

“I did care,” I replied. “In fact, it was awkward not 
to know it. But, of course, I did not want to— interfere 
in any way with the rules of your establishment.” 

101 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Ah / 7 she said, “I have noticed your extreme solici- 
tude in regard to our rules, hut there is no rule against 
telling our names. Mine is Sister Hagar . 77 

“Hagar ! 77 I exclaimed. “You do not mean that is 
your real name ? 77 

“It is the name given me by the House of Martha , 77 
she answered. “There is a list of names by which the 
sisters must be called, and, as we enter the institution, 
we take the names in their order on the list. Hagar 
came to me . 77 

“I shall not call you by that , 77 said I, “and we may 
as well go on with our work . 77 

I was anxious to have her read, and to forget that 
she was called Hagar. 

She was a long time arranging the manuscript and 
putting the pages in order. I did not hurry her, but 
I could not see any reason for so much preparation. 
Presently she said, still arranging the sheets, and 
with her head bent slightly over her work : “I don’t 
know whether, or not, I ought to tell you, but I dislike 
to be called Hagar. The next name on the list is Re- 
becca, and I am willing to take that, but the rules of 
the house do not allow us to skip an unappropriated 
name, and permit no choosing. However, Mother 
Anastasia has not pressed the matter, and, although I 
am entered as Sister Hagar, the sisters do not call me 
by that name . 77 

“What do they call you ? 77 

“Oh, they simply use the name that was mine before 
I entered the House of Martha , 77 said she. 

“And what is that ? 77 I asked quickly. 

“Ah , 77 said my nun, pushing her sheets into a com- 
pact pile, and thumping their edges on the table to 
102 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


make them even, “to talk about that would be de- 
cidedly against the rules of the institution— and now 
I am ready to read.” 

Thus did she punish me for what she considered my 
want of curiosity or interest. I knew it as well as if 
she had told me so. I accepted the rebuff, and said 
no more, and she went on with her reading. 

On this and the following day I became aware how 
infinitely more pleasant it was to listen than to be 
listened to— at least, under certain circumstances. I 
considered it wonderfully fortunate to be able to talk 
to such an admirable listener as Walkirk : but to sit 
and hear my nun read, to watch the charming play of 
her mouth, and the occasional flush of a smile when 
she came to something exciting or humorous, to look 
into the blue of her eyes, as she raised them to me 
while I considered an alteration, was to me an over- 
whelming rapture— I could call it nothing less. But, 
by the end of the third morning of reading, my good 
sense told me that this sort of thing could not go on, 
and it would be judicious for me to begin again my 
dictation, and to let my secretary confine herself 
to her writing. The fact that on any morning I 
had not allowed her to read until the hour of noon 
was an additional proof that my decision was a wise 
one. 

The story of Tomaso and Lucilla now went bravely 
on, with enough groundwork of foreign land for the 
characters to stand on, and I tried very hard to keep 
my mind on the writing of my book and away from 
its writer. Outwardly I may have appeared to suc- 
ceed fairly well in this purpose, but inwardly the case 
was different. However, if I could suppress any 
103 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


manifestations of my emotions, I told myself, I ought 
to be satisfied. 

A few mornings after the recommencement of the 
dictation, I was a little late in entering my study, and 
I found my secretary already at the table in the ante- 
room. In answer to my morning salutation, she merely 
bowed, and sat ready for work. She did not even 
offer to read what she had last written. This sur- 
prised me. Was she resenting what she might look 
upon as undue stiffness and reserve ? If so, I was very 
sorry, but, at the same time, I would meet her on her 
own ground. If she chose to return to her old rigidity, 
I would accept the situation, and be as formal as she 
liked. 

More than this, I began to feel a little resentment. 
I would revert not only to my former manner, but 
to my former matter. I would wind up that love- 
story, and confine myself to the subject of foreign 
travel. 

Acting on this resolution, I made short work of 
Tomaso and Lucilla. The former determined not to 
think of marriage until he was several years older, 
and had acquired the necessary means to support a 
wife, and Lucilla accepted the advice of her mother 
and the priest, and obtained a situation in a lace- 
making establishment in Venice, where she resolved 
to work industriously until the middle-aged innkeeper 
had made up his mind whether, or not, he would marry 
one of the handsome girls to whom he had become 
guardian. 

To this very prosaic conclusion of the love-story I 
added some remarks intended as an apology for intro- 
104 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


ducing such a story into my sketches of travel, and 
showing how the little narrative brought into view 
some of the characteristics of the people of Sicily. 
After that, I discoursed of the present commerce of 
Italy as compared with that of the middle ages. 

My secretary took no notice whatever of my change 
of subject, but went on writing as I dictated. This 
apathy at last became so annoying to me that, excus- 
ing myself, I left my study before the hour of noon. 

It is impossible for me to say how the events, or 
rather the want of events, of that morning disturbed 
my mind. By turns, I was angry, I was grieved, I 
was regretful, I was resentful. It is so easy, sometimes, 
for one person, with the utmost placidity, to throw 
another person into a state of mental agitation, and 
this, I think, is especially noticeable when the placid 
party is a woman. 

As the day wore on, my disquiet of mind and body 
and general ill humor did not abate, and, wishing that 
other people should not notice my unusual state of 
mind, I took an early afternoon train to the city, 
leaving a note for Walkirk, informing him that his 
services as listener would not be needed that evening. 
The rest of that day I spent at my club, where, fortu- 
nately for my mood, I met only a few old fellows who 
could not get out of town in the summer, and who had 
learned, from long practice, to be quite sufficient unto 
themselves. Seated in a corner of the large reading- 
room, I spent the evening smoking, holding in my 
hand an unread newspaper, and asking myself mental 
questions. 

I inquired why, in the name of common sense, I al- 
105 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


lowed myself to be so disturbed by the conduct of an 
amanuensis, paid by the day, and, moreover, a member 
of a religious order. I inquired why the fates should 
have so ordered it that this perfectly charming young 
woman should suddenly have become frozen into a 
mass of gray ice. I inquired if I had inadvertently 
done or said anything which would naturally wound 
the feelings or arouse the resentment of a sister of the 
House of Martha. I inquired if there could be any 
reasonable excuse for a girl who, on account of an 
omission or delay in asking her name, would assume 
a manner of austere rudeness to a gentleman who had 
always treated her with scrupulous courtesy. Finally, 
I asked myself why it was that I persisted, and per- 
sisted, and persisted in thinking about a thing like 
this, when my judgment told me that I should in- 
stantly dismiss the whole affair from my mind, and 
employ my thoughts on something sensible, and to 
this I gave the only answer which I made to any of 
the inquiries I had put to myself. That was that I 
did not know why this was so, but it was so, and there 
was no help for it. 

Walking home from the station, quite late at night, 
the question which had so much troubled me suddenly 
resolved itself, and I became convinced that the change 
in the manner of my secretary was due to increased 
pressure of the rules of the House of Martha. I would 
not, I could not, believe that a fit of pique, occasioned 
by my apparent want of interest in her, could make 
her thus cold, and even rude. She was not the kind 
of girl to do this thing of her own volition. It was 
those wretched rules, and if they were to be enforced 
106 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


in tliis way, the head of the House of Martha should 
know that I considered the act a positive discourtesy, 
if nothing more. 

I was angry,— that was not to be wondered at,— but 
it was a great relief to me to feel that I need not be 
angry with my secretary. 


107 


CHAPTER XX 


TOMASO AND I 

The next day my amanuensis bade me good morning 
in her former pleasant manner, but, without turning 
toward me, seated herself quickly at the table, and 
took the manuscript from the drawer. “Oh, ho !” I 
thought, “then you can speak, and it was not the 
rules which made you behave in that way, but your 
own pique, which has worn off a little.” I glanced at 
her as she intently looked over the work of the day 
before, and I was considering whether, or not, it would 
be fitting for me to show that there might be pique 
on one side of the grating as well as on the other, 
when, suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by 
a burst of laughter— girlish, irrepressible laughter. 
With the manuscript in her hands, my nun actually 
leaned back in her chair and laughed so heartily that 
I wonder my grandmother did not hear her. 

“I declare,” she said, turning to me, her eyes glis- 
tening with tears of merriment, “this is the funniest 
thing I ever saw ! Why, you have actually separated 
those poor lovers for life, and crushed every hope in 
the properest way. And then all the rest about com- 
merce ! I wouldn’t have believed you could do it.” 

108 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“What do you mean? ” I exclaimed. “You showed 
no surprise when you wrote it.” 

Again she laughed. 

“Wrote it ! ” she cried. “I never wrote a line of it. 
It was Sister Sarah who was your secretary yesterday. 
Didn’t you know that?” 

I stood for a moment, utterly unable to answer. 
Then I gasped, “Sister Sarah wrote for me yesterday ! 
What does it mean ? ” 

“Positively,” said she, pushing back her chair and 
rising to her feet, “this is not only the funniest, but 
the most wonderful thing in the world. Do you mean 
truly to say that you did not know it was Sister Sarah 
who wrote for you yesterday ? ” 

“I did not suspect it for an instant,” I answered. 

“It was, it was ! ” she exclaimed, clasping her hands 
in her earnestness, and stepping closer to the grating. 
“When we came here yesterday, and found you were 
not in your room, a sudden idea struck her. ‘I will 
stay here myself, this morning,’ she said, ‘and do his 
writing. I want to know what sort of a story this is 
that is being dictated to a sister of our house.’ And 
so, she simply turned me out and told me to go home. 
You don’t know how frightened I was. I was afraid 
that, as we dress exactly alike, you might not at first 
notice that Sister Sarah was sitting at the table, and 
that you might begin with an awfully affectionate 
speech by Tomaso,— for I knew that something of that 
kind was just on the point of breaking out,— and I 
knew, too, that, if you did it, there would be lively 
times in the House of Martha, and perhaps here also. 
I fairly shivered the whole morning, and my only 
hope was that she would begin to snap at you as soon 
109 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


as you came in, and you would then know whom you 
had to deal with, and that you would have to put a 
lot of water into your love-making if you wanted any 
more help from the sisters. But if I had known that 
you would not find out that she was writing for you, 
I should certainly have died. I couldn’t have stood it. 
But how in the world could you have kept on think- 
ing that that woman was I ? She is shorter and fatter 
and not a bit like me, except in her clothes, and if 
you thought I was writing for you, why did you dic- 
tate that ridiculous stuff? ” 

I stood confounded. Here were answers to devise. 

“Of course the dress deceived me,” I said presently, 
“and not once did she turn her face toward me. Be- 
sides, I did not imagine for a moment that any one 
but you could be sitting at that table.” 

“But I cannot understand why,” she pursued, “if 
you didn’t know it was Sister Sarah, you made that 
sudden change in your story.” 

For a moment I hesitated, and then I saw I might as 
well speak out honestly. When a man sees before him a 
pair of blue eyes like those which were then fixed upon 
me, the chances are that he will speak out honestly. 

“The fact is,” I said, “that I’m a little— -well, sensi- 
tive. And when you, or the person I thought was you, 
did not speak to me, nor look at me, nor pay any 
more heed to me than if I had been a talking-machine 
worked with a crank, I was somewhat provoked, and 
determined that, if you suddenly chose to freeze in 
that way, I would freeze, too, and that you should have 
no more of that story, in which you were so interested, 
and so I smashed the loves of Tomaso and Lucilla, and 
took up commerce, which I was sure you would hate.” 

110 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


At this, there was a quick flash in her eyes, and the 
first tremblings of a smile at the corners of her mouth. 

“Oh ! ” she said, and that was all she did say, as she 
returned to the table and took her seat. 

“Is my explanation satisfactory?” I asked. 

“Oh, certainly,” she answered, “and, if you will 
excuse me for saying so, I think you are a very for- 
tunate man. In trying to punish me you protected 
yourself— that is, if you care to have secretaries from 
our institution.” 

As I could not see her face, I could not determine 
what answer I should make to this remark, and she 
continued, as she turned over the sheets : “What are 
you going to do with the pages which were written 
yesterday ? ” 

“Tear them up,” I replied, “and throw them into 
the basket. I wish to annihilate them utterly.” 

She obeyed me, and tore Sister Sarah’s work into 
very small pieces. 

“Now we will go on with the original and genuine 
story,” I said. “And as the occurrences of yesterday 
are entirely banished from my mind, and as all recol- 
lection of the point where we left off has gone, will 
you kindly read two or three pages of what you last 
wrote ? ” 

Several times I had perceived, or thought I had 
perceived, symptoms of emotion in the back of my 
secretary’s shawl, and these symptoms, if such they 
were, were visible now. She occupied some minutes 
in selecting a suitable point at which to begin, but, 
when she had done this, she read without any signs of 
emotion, either in her shawl or in her face. 

The story of the Sicilian young people progressed 
111 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


slowly, not because of any lack of material, but be- 
cause I was anxious to portray the phases as clearly 
and as effectively as I could possibly do it, and when- 
ever I could prevent myself from thinking of some- 
thing else, I applied my mind most earnestly to this 
object. I flatter myself that I did the work very well, 
and I am sure there were passages the natural fervor 
of which would have made Sister Sarah bounce at least 
a yard from her chair, had they been dictated to her, 
but my nun did not bounce in the least. 

Before the hour at which we usually stopped work, 
I arose from my chair, and stated that that would be 
all for the day. 

My secretary looked at me quickly. “All for 
to-day?” she asked, a little smile of disapprobation 
upon her brow. “It cannot be twelve o’clock yet.” 

“No,” I answered, “it is not, but it is not easy to 
work out the answer which Lucilla ought now to 
make to Tomaso, and I shall have to take time for its 
consideration.” 

“I shouldn’t think it would be easy,” said she, “but 
I hoped you had it all ready in your mind.” 

“Then you are interested in it?” I asked. 

“Of course I am,” she answered. “Who wouldn’t 
be? And just at this point, too, when everything 
depends on what she says. But it is quite right for you 
to be very careful about what you make her say.” And 
she gathered her sheets together, to lay them away. 

Now, I wanted to say something to her,— I stopped 
work for that purpose, —but I did not know what to 
say. An apology for my conduct of the day before 
would not be exactly in order, and an explanation of 
it would be exceedingly difficult. I walked up and 
112 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


down my study, and she continued to arrange her 
pages. When she had put them into a compact and 
very neat little pile, she opened the table drawer, 
placed them in it, examined some other contents of 
the drawer, and finally closed it and sat looking out 
of the window. After some minutes of this silent 
observation, she half turned toward me, and, without 
entirely removing her gaze from the apple-tree out- 
side, she asked : 

“Do you still want to know my namd” 

“Indeed, I do ! ” I exclaimed, stepping quickly to 
the grating. 

“Well, then,” she said, “it is Sylvia.” 

At this moment we heard the footsteps of Sister 
Sarah in the hall— at least two minutes before the 
usual time. 

When they had gone, I stood by my study table, 
my arms folded and my eyes fixed upon the floor. 

“Horace Vanderley,” I said to myself, “you are in 
love.” And to this frank and explicit statement I 
answered, quite as frankly, “That is certainly true ; 
there can be no mistake about it.” 


113 


CHAPTER XXI 


LUCILLA AND I 

A Saturday afternoon, evening, and night, the whole 
of a Sunday and its night, with some hours of a Monday 
morning, intervened between the moment at which I 
had acknowledged to myself my feelings toward my 
secretary and the moment at which I might expect to 
see her again, and nearly the whole of this time was 
occupied by me in endeavoring to determine what 
should be my next step. To stand still in my present 
position was absolutely impossible : I must go either 
forward or backward. To go backward was a simple 
thing enough. It was like turning round and jumping 
down a precipice. It made me shudder. To go forward 
was like climbing a precipice with beetling crags and 
perpendicular walls of ice. 

The first of these alternatives did not require any 
consideration whatever. To the second I gave all the 
earnest consideration of which I was capable, but I 
saw no way of getting up. The heights were inac- 
cessible. 

In very truth, my case was a hard one. I could not 
make love to a woman through a grating, and, if I 
could, I would not be dishonorable enough to do it 
114 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


when that woman was locked up in a room, and could 
not get away, in case she did not wish to listen to my 
protestations. But between the girl I loved and 
myself there was a grating compared with which the 
barrier in the doorway of my study was as a spider’s 
web. This was the network of solemn bars which 
surrounded the sisters of the House of Martha— the 
vows they had made never to think of love, to read 
of it, or speak of it. 

To drop metaphors, it would be impossible for me 
to continue to work with her and conceal my love for 
her. It would be stupidly useless, and, moreover, cow- 
ardly, to declare that love, and it would be sensible, 
praiseworthy, and in every way advantageous for me 
to cease my literary labors and go immediately to the 
Adirondacks or to Mount Desert. But would I go 
away on Saturday or Sunday, when she was coming on 
Monday? I^ot I ! 

She came on Monday, surrounded by a gray halo, 
which had begun to grow as beautiful, to my vision, as 
the delicate tints of early dawn. When she began to 
read what she had last written, I seated myself in a 
chair by the grating. When she had finished, I sat 
silent for a minute, got up and walked about, came 
back, sat down, and was silent again. In my whole 
mind there did not seem to be one crevice into which 
an available thought concerning my travels could 
squeeze itself. She sat quietly looking out of the 
window at the apple-tree. Presently she said : 

“I suppose you find it hard to begin work on Mon- 
day morning, after having rested so long. It must be 
difficult to get yourself again into the proper frame of 
mind.” 


115 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“On this Monday morning,” I answered, “I find it 
very hard indeed.” 

She turned, and, for the first time that day, fixed her 
eyes upon me. She did not look well : she was pale. 

“I had hoped,” she said, with a little smile without 
any brightness in it, “that you would finish the story 
of Tomaso and Lucilla. But I don’t believe you feel 
like composing, so how would you like me to read, this 
morning ! ” 

“Nothing could suit me better,” I answered, and 
in my heart I thought that here was an angelic gift— 
a relief and a joy. 

“I will begin,” she said, “at the point where I left 
off reading.” She took up a portion of the manuscript, 
she brought her chair within a yard of the grating, 
she sat down with her face toward me, and she read. 
Sometimes she stopped and spoke of what she was 
reading, now to ask a question, and now to tell some- 
thing she had seen in the place I described. I said 
but little. I did not wish to occupy any of that 
lovely morning with my words — words which were 
bound to mean nothing. As she read and talked,, 
some color came into her face : she looked more like 
herself. What a shame to shut up such a woman in 
a house where she never had anything interesting to 
talk about, never anybody interested to talk to ! 

After the reading of half a dozen pages, during 
which she had not interrupted herself, she laid the 
manuscript in her lap, and asked me the time. I told 
her it wanted twenty minutes of twelve. She made 
no answer, but rose, put the manuscript in the drawer, 
and then returned with a little note which she had 
taken from her pocket. 


116 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Mother Anastasia desired me to give you this/ 7 she 
said, folding it so that she could push it through one 
of the interstices of the grating. “She told me to hand 
it to you as I was coming away, hut I don’t think she 
would object to your reading it a little before that.” 

I took the note, unfolded it, and read it. Mother 
Anastasia wrote an excellent hand. She informed me 
that it had been decided that the sister of the House 
of Martha who* had been acting as my amanuensis 
should not continue in that position, but should now 
devote herself to another class of work. If, however, 
I desired it, another sister would take her place. 

I stood, unable to speak. I must have been as pale 
asfhe white paint on the door-frame near which I stood. 

“You see,” said Sylvia,— and, from the expression 
upon her face, I think she must have perceived that I 
did not like what I had read,— “this is the work of 
Sister Sarah. I might as well tell you that at once, 
and I am sure there is no harm in my doing so. She 
has always objected to my writing for you, and al- 
though the morning she spent with you would have 
satisfied any reasonable person that there could be no 
possible objection to my doing it, she has not ceased 
to insist that I shall give it up and go to the Measles 
Refuge. That, however, I will not do, but I cannot 
come here any more. Mother Anastasia and I are 
both sure that, if I am not withdrawn from this work, 
she will make no end of trouble. She has consented 
that I should go on until now simply because this day 
ends my month.” 

I was filled with amazement, grief, and rage. 

“The horrible wretch!” I exclaimed. “What 
malignant wickedness ! ” 


117 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Oh,” said Sylvia, holding up one finger, “you 
mustn’t talk like that about the sister. She may 
think she is right, but I don’t see how she can, and 
perhaps she would have some reason on her side if 
she could see me standing here, talking about her, in- 
stead of attending to my work. But I determined 
that I would not go away without saying a word. 
You have always been very courteous to us, and I 
don’t see why we should not be courteous to you.” 

“Are you sorry to go?” I asked, getting as close to 
the grating as I could. “If they would let you, would 
you go on writing for me ? ” 

“I should be glad to go on with the work,” she said. 
“It is just what I like.” 

“Too bad, too bad!” I cried. “Cannot it be pre- 
vented? Cannot I see somebody? You do not know 
how much I— how exactly you—” 

“Excuse me,” said Sylvia, “for interrupting you, 
but what time is it? ” 

I glanced at the clock. “It wants four minutes of 
twelve,” I gasped. 

“Then I must bid you good-by,” she said. 

“Good-by?” I repeated. “How can you bid me 
good-by? Confound this grating ! Isn’t that door 
open?” 

“No,” she replied, “it’s locked. Do you want to 
shake hands with me ? ” 

“Of course I do!” I cried. “Good-by like this! 
It cannot be.” 

“I think,” she said quickly, “that, if you could get 
out of your window, you might come to mine and 
shake hands.” 

What a scintillating inspiration ! What a girl ! I 
118 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


had not thought of it. In a moment I had bounded 
out of my window, and was standing under hers, which 
was not four feet from the ground. There she was, 
with her beautiful white hand already extended. I 
seized it in both of mine. 

“Oh, Sylvia,” I said, “I cannot have you go in this 
way. I want to tell you — I want to tell you how—” 

“You are very good,” she interrupted, endeavoring 
slightly to withdraw her hand, “and when the story 
of Tomaso and Lucilla is finished and printed, I am 
going to read it, rules or no rules.” 

“It shall never be finished,” I exclaimed, vehe- 
mently, “if you do not write it ! ” And, lifting her 
hand, I really believe I was about to kiss it, when, 
with a quick movement, she drew it from me. 

“She is coming,” she said. “Good-by! good-by!” 
And, with a wave of her hand, she was gone from the 
window. 

I did not return to my study. I stood by the side 
of the house, with my fists clenched and my eyes set. 
Then, suddenly, I ran to the garden wall. Looking 
over it, I saw, far down the shaded village street, two 
gray figures walking away. 


7 


119 


CHAPTER XXII 


I CLOSE MY BOOK 

By the rarest good fortune my grandmother started 
that afternoon for a visit to an old friend at the sea- 
shore, and, in the mild excitement of her departure, 
I do not think she noticed anything unusual in my 
demeanor. 

“And so your amanuensis has left you?” she re- 
marked, as she was eating a hasty luncheon. “ Sister 
Sarah stopped for a moment and told me so. She said 
there was another one ready to take the place, if you 
wanted her.” 

I tried to suppress my feelings, but I inust have 
spoken sharply. “Want her!” I exclaimed. “I 
want none of her ! ” 

My grandmother looked at me for a moment. 

“I shall be sorry, Horace,” she said, “if you find 
that the sisters do not work to suit you. I hoped 
that you might continue to employ them, because the 
House of Martha is at such a convenient distance, and 
offers you such a variety of assistance to choose from, 
and also because you would contribute to a most 
worthy cause. You know that all the money they 
may make is to go to hospitals and that sort of thing. 

120 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I was a little afraid, however/’ she continued, 
after a pause, “that the sister you engaged might not 
suit you. She was so much younger than the others 
that I feared that, away from the restraints of the 
institution, she might be a little frivolous. Was she 
ever frivolous ? ” 

“ Not in the least,” I answered,— “not for an instant.” 

“I am very glad to hear that,” she remarked,— 
“very glad, indeed. I take an interest in that sister. 
Years ago, I knew her family, but that was before she 
was born. I remember that I was intending to speak 
to you about her, but, in some way, I was interrupted.” 

“Well,” I asked, “tell me now. Who is she?” 

“She is,” said my grandmother, “Sister Hagar, of 
the House of Martha. She was Sylvia Raynor of Hew 
Haven. I think that, in some way, her life has been 
darkened. Mother Anastasia takes a great interest 
in her, and favors her a good deal. I know there 
was opposition to her entering the house, but she was 
determined to do it. You say you are not going to 
engage another sister? Who is to be your amanu- 
ensis ? ” 

“Ho one,” I answered. “I shall stop writing, for 
the present. This is a very good time. I’ve nearly 
reached the end of— a sort of division of the book.” 

“An excellent idea,” said my grandmother, with 
animation. “You ought to go to the sea or the moun- 
tains. You have been working very hard. You are 
not looking well.” 

“I shall go, I shall go,” I answered quickly,— “fish- 
ing, probably, but I can’t say where. I’ll write to 
you as soon as I decide.” 

“How, that is very pleasant,” said my grandmother, 
121 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


as she rose from the table, “very pleasant, indeed. And 
if you write that you will be away fishing for a week 
or two, I shall stay at the Bromleys’ longer than I 
intended — perhaps until you return.” 

“A week or two ! ” I muttered to myself. 

Walkirk had sharper eyes than those of my grand- 
mother. I am sure that, when he came that evening, 
he saw immediately that something was the matter 
with me— something of moment. He was a man of 
too much tact to allude to my state of mind, but in a 
very short time I saved him all the trouble of circum- 
spection, for I growled out that I could not talk about 
travels at present, and then told him that I could 
not write about them, either, for I had lost my sec- 
retary. 

His countenance exhibited much concern. 

“But you can get another of the sisters,” he said. 

What I replied to this I do not remember, but I 
know I expressed myself so freely, so explicitly, and 
with such force that Walkirk understood very well 
that I wanted the secretary I had lost, that I wanted 
none other, and that I wanted her very much, indeed. 
In fact, he comprehended the situation perfectly. 

I was not sorry. I longed for someone to whom I 
could talk about the matter, in whom I could confide. 
In ten minutes I was speaking to Walkirk in perfect 
confidence. 

“But you can’t do anything,” said he, when there 
came a pause. “This is a case in which there is noth- 
ing to do. My advice is that you go away, for a 
time, and try to get over it.” 

“Iam going away,” I replied. 

“You could do nothing better,” Walkirk remarked. 

122 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I am altogether in favor of that, although, of course, 
such counsel is against my own interests.” 

“Not at all,” said I, catching his meaning, “for I 
shall take you with me.” 

After a considerable pause in the conversation, 
Walkirk inquired if I had decided where I would go. 

“No,” I answered, “that is your affair. My desire 
is to get away from every place where there is any 
chance of seeing a woman. I wish to obliterate from 
my mind all idea of the female human being. In 
fact, I think I should like to take lodgings near a 
monastery, and have the monks come and write for 
me — a different one every day.” 

Walkirk smiled. “Since you wish me to select 
your retreat,” he said, “I am bound to have an opin- 
ion regarding it. I might advise a visit to the Trap- 
pists of Kentucky, or to some remote fishing and 
hunting region, but it strikes me that a background 
made up of exclusive association with men would be 
very apt to bring out in strong relief any particular 
female image which you might have in your mind. I 
should say that the best way of getting rid of such an 
image would be to merge it in a lot of other female 
images.” 

“Away with the idea ! ” I cried. “Walkirk, I will 
neither merge nor relieve. I will go with you to 
some place where we shall see neither men nor 
women— where we can hunt, fish, sail, sleep, read, 
smoke, and banish the world. I don’t wish you to 
take a servant. We can do without service, and, if 
necessary, I can cook. I put the whole matter in your 
hands, Walkirk, and when you have decided on our 
destination, let me know.” 

123 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

The next afternoon Walkirk found me at my club 
in the city, and informed me that he had selected a 
place which he thought would suit my purposes. 

“No people?” I asked. 

“None but ourselves,” replied he. 

“Very good,” said I. “When can we start?” 

“I shall be ready to-morrow afternoon,” he an- 
swered, “and I will call for you at your house.” 


124 


CHAPTER XXIII 


RACKET ISLAND 

We travelled all night, and, early in the morning, 
alighted at a small station, on the shore of a broad 
bay. Here we found moored a cat- rigged sail-boat, of 
which Walkirk took possession, and we stowed therein 
the valises, guns, and fishing-tackle which we had 
brought with us. I examined the craft with consider- 
able interest. It was about twenty feet long, had a 
small cabin divided into two compartments, and ap- 
peared to be well stocked with provisions and other 
necessaries. 

“Is it to be a long cruise?” I said to Walkirk, 
“and do you know how to sail a boat? ” 

“With this wind,” he answered, “we should reach 
our destination in a couple of hours, and I consider 
myself a very fair skipper.” 

“Up sail, then,” I cried, “and I am not in the least 
hurry to know where I am going.” 

Walkirk sailed a boat very well, but he did it in 
rather an odd way— as if he had learned it all out of 
a book, and never had handled a tiller before. I am 
not a bad amateur sailor myself, but I gave no con- 
sideration to the management of our craft. Walkirk 
125 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


had said that he knew where he was going, and was 
able to sail there, and I left the matter entirely to him, 
and whether, or not, this was his first essay in sailing, in 
due time we ran up on a low beach, and he exclaimed : 

“Here we are ! ” 

I rose to my feet and looked about me. “How, 
then,” said I, “I shall ask you, where are we?” 

“This is Eacket Island,” he replied, “and as soon 
as we get the boat pulled up and the sail down, I will 
tell you about it.” 

“Eacket Island,” said Walkirk, a short time after- 
wards, as we stood together on a little sandy bluff, 
“was discovered two years ago by me and a friend, as 
we were sailing about in this bay. I suppose other 
people may have discovered it before, but as I have 
seen no proof of this, I am not bound to believe it. 
We named it Eacket Island, having found on the 
beach an old tennis-racket, which had been washed 
there by the waves from no one knows where. The 
island is not more than half a mile long, with a very 
irregular coast. The other end of it, you see, is pretty 
well wooded. We stayed here for three days, sleeping 
in our boat, and so far as solitude is concerned, we 
might as well have been on a desert island in the 
midst of the Pacific. How, I propose that we do the 
same thing, and stay for three days, or three weeks, 
or as long as you please. This is the finest season of 
the year for camping out, and we can moor the boat 
securely, and cook and sleep on board of it. There is 
plenty of sand and there is plenty of shade, and I 
hope you like my plan.” 

“I do ! ” I cried. “On Eacket Island let us settle ! ” 

For two days I experienced a sort of negative en- 
126 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


joyment. If I could not be at borne dictating to my 
late secretary, or, better still, looking at ber, as sbe 
sat close to tbe grating, reading to me, tbis was tbe 
next best thing I could do. I could walk over tbe 
island, I could sail around it, I could watcb Walkirk 
fisb, I could lie on tbe sand and look at tbe sky, and I 
could picture Sylvia with ber bair properly arranged, 
and attired in apparel suited to ber. In my fancy, I 
totally discarded tbe gray garb of tbe sisters of tbe 
House of Martba, and dressed my nun sometimes in a 
light summer robe, with a broad bat shading ber face, 
and, again, in tbe richest costumes of silks and furs. 
Sometimes Walkirk interrupted these pleasant rev- 
eries, but that, of course, was to be expected. 

In several directions we could see points of land, 
but it did not interest me to know what these were, 
or bow far away they were. Walkirk and I bad 
Racket Island to ourselves, my grandmother was 
happy with ber friends, and where tbe rest of tbe 
world happened to stow themselves I did not care. 
Several times I said tbis to myself, but it was a mis- 
take. I cared very much where Sylvia stowed herself. 
Philosophize as I might, I thought of ber continually 
in that doleful House of Martba, and, as I thought of 
ber there, I cried out against tbe shortcomings of civi- 
lization. 

We bad pitched a small tent in tbe shelter of a 
clump of trees on tbe higher part of the island, and 
near tbis, on tbe morning of our third day, I was sit- 
ting smoking, and trying tbe effect of Sylvia’s face 
under a wide black bat heavy with ostrich-plumes, 
when Walkirk approached me, carrying a string of 
freshly caught fisb. 


127 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I am sorry to say/’ said he, “that, in coming here 
to escape the society of women, we have made a fail- 
ure, for one of them is sitting on the beach, on the 
other side of the island.” 

I sprang to my feet with an abrupt exclamation. 

“How did the woman get here?” I cried. “I 
thought this place was deserted.” 

“It is. I know every inch of it. Ho one lives here, 
but this female person came in a small sail-boat. I 
saw it tied up, not far from where she is sitting.” 

“If women come here,” I said, “I want to go, and 
you may as well get ready to leave.” 

“I think,” remarked Walkirk, “that it would be 
well not to be in too great a hurry to leave. I know 
of no place where we are less likely to be disturbed, 
and, so long as these dry nights continue, there can be 
no pleasanter camping-place. She may now be sailing 
away, and the chances are we shall never see her 
again.” 

“I’ll go and look into the matter/’ said I. 

I walked over the ridge of the little island, and soon 
caught sight of a female figure sitting on the sandy 
beach. Hear by was the boat which Walkirk had 
mentioned. As soon as I saw her, I stopped. But she 
must have heard my approach, for she turned toward 
me. I had come merely to make an observation of 
her, but now I must go on. As I approached her, I 
turned as if I were about to walk along the shore, and, 
as I passed her, I raised my hat. She was a lady of 
middle age, of a reddish blond complexion, and her 
hair was negligently put up under a plain straw hat. 
Her large blue eyes, her slightly uplifted brows, and 
the general expression of her rather thin face, gave me 
128 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


the idea that she was a pleasantly disposed woman, 
who was either very tired or not in good health. 

“Good morning, sir, 7 ’ she said. “On desert islands, 
yon know, people speak to each other without cere- 
mony.” 

I stopped and returned her salutation. “Excuse 
me,” I remarked, “but this does not seem to be a 
desert island. May I be permitted to ask if it is a 
place of much resort? ” 

“Of course you may,” she answered. “People some- 
times come here, but would you like it better if they 
did not? You need not answer : I know you would.” 

This was a very free-and-easy lady, but, if she liked 
that mood, it suited me very well. 

“Since you will have it,” I replied, “I will admit 
that I came here because I thought my companion 
and I would have the island to ourselves.” 

“And now you are disappointed,” she said, with a 
smile. 

She was surely a person of very pleasant humor. 

“Good lady,” said I, “you must not corner me. I 
came here because I thought it would be a good place 
in which to stop awhile and grumble undisturbed. 
And, as you say it is proper to be unceremonious, may 
I ask how you happen to be here, and if you sail your 
boat yourself? ” 

“I am here,” she answered, “because I like this 
island. I take an interest in it, for two reasons : one 
is that it is a good island, and the other is that I 
own it.” 

“Really ! ” I exclaimed, in sudden embarrassment. 
“You must pardon me ! I assure you, I did not know 
that.” 


129 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“ Don’t apologize / 7 she said, raising her hand. 
“Scarcely any one knows, or, at least, remembers, that 
I own this island. I bought it a good many years 
ago, intending to build upon it. But it was considered 
too remote from the mainland, and I have established 
a summer home on the island which you can just see, 
over there to the west. So this island is perfectly free 
to respectable seekers after solitude or fish. I may 
add that I do not sail my boat, but came here this 
morning with my brother and another gentleman. 
They have now gone up the beach to look for shells . 77 

“Madam , 77 said I, “I feel that I am an intruder. 
But, to assure you that I am a respectable one, allow 
me to introduce myself . 77 And I presented my card. 

“No, thank you , 77 she replied, with a smile, as she 
gently waved back my card. “We don’t do that sort 
of thing here. As far as possible, we omit all ordinary 
social customs. We come here to rid ourselves, for a 
time, of manners and customs. My other island is 
called the Tangent, because there we fly off from 
our accustomed routine of life. We dress as we please, 
and we live as we please. We drop all connection 
with society and its conventions. We even drop the 
names by which society knows us. I am known as 
the Lady who Sits on the Sand, commonly con- 
densed to the Sand Lady. My brother, who spends 
most of his time in his boat, is the Middle-Aged Man 
of the Sea, and his scientific friend is the Shell Man. 
When we have stayed on the Tangent as long as 
the weather and our pleasure induce us, we return to 
our ordinary routine of life. Now, if you have any 
title which is characteristic of you, I shall be glad to 
hear it, as well as that of your companion. We con- 
130 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


sider ourselves capable of forming unbiased opinions 
in regard to what is generally known as respecta- 
bility.” 

It struck me as a very satisfactory thing to look 
upon this pleasant lady solely and simply as a human 
being. It is so seldom that we meet any one who can 
be looked upon in that light. 

“ Madam,” I said, “I greatly like your plan for 
putting yourselves out of the world, for a time, but I 
find it difficult properly to designate myself.” 

“Oh, anything will do,” she said,— “for instance, 
your reason for desiring to seclude yourself.” 

“Very well, then,” said I. “You may call me the 
Lover in Check.” 

“Excellent!” she exclaimed,— “just the sort of 
person for this place. And what is the other one ? ” 

“Oh, he is an Understudy,” I replied. 

“Delightful ! ” she said. “I never saw one. And 
here come my brother and the Shell Man.” 

I was now introduced formally by my new title to 
the Middle-Aged Man of the Sea, a hearty personage 
with a curling beard, and to the Shell Man, who was 
tall, and wore spectacles. 

When my presence was explained, the brother was 
as cordial as the lady had been, and proffered any 
assistance which I might need during my sojourn on 
the island. When they took their leave, the Sand 
Lady urged me to inhabit her island as long as I 
pleased, and hoped that I and the Understudy would 
sometimes sail over to them, and see what it was to be 
on a Tangent. At this, I shook my head, and they all 
laughed at me, but it was easy to see that they were 
people of very friendly dispositions. 

131 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


When I reported my interview to Walkirk, he re- 
marked, “It is impossible to get away from people, 
but, in all probability, these people will not come here 
again. 7 ’ 

“Perhaps not,” I answered, and dropped the subject. 


132 


CHAPTER XXIY 


THE INTERPOLATION 

“They did not seem in the least surprised to find us 
here/’ I said to Walkirk, as we were eating our 
dinner. 

“Who?” he asked. “Oh, the people who came 
over this morning? Quite likely they saw us when 
we were sailing this way. We passed their island at 
no great distance. There is no reason why they should 
object. Your soft hat and flannel shirt would not pre- 
vent them from seeing that you are a gentleman.” 

I nodded, and sat silent for a time. 

“Walkirk,” said I, “suppose we sail over to those 
people, this afternoon? It might be interesting.” 

“Very good,” he answered, turning suddenly to 
watch a sea-gull, which had made a great swoop 
toward us, as if attracted by the odors of our meal. 
“That will be an excellent thing to do.” 

In making our way, that afternoon, in the direction 
of the Tangent, our course was not mathematically 
correct, for the wind did not favor us, and it was 
impossible to sail in a right line, but the sun was still 
high when we reached the larger island, and made the 
boat fast to a little pier. 


133 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


This island was much more attractive than the one 
on which we were camping. The ground receded 
from the beach in rolling slopes, covered with short 
grass, and here and there were handsome spreading 
trees. On a bluff, a few hundred yards from the pier, 
stood a low, picturesque house, almost surrounded by 
a grove. The path to the house was plainly marked, 
and led us along the face of a little hill to a jutting 
point, where it seemed to make an abrupt turn up- 
ward. As we rounded this point, we saw, on a rocky 
ledge not far ahead of us, a lady dressed in white. 
She was standing on the ledge, looking out over the 
water, and apparently very much engaged with her 
own thoughts, for she had not yet perceived our ap- 
proach. 

At the first glance, I saw that the figure before us 
was not the Sand Lady. This was a tall and graceful 
woman, carrying no weight of years. She held her 
hat in her hand, and her dark hair was slightly blown 
back from a face which, seen in profile against the 
clear blue sky, appeared to me to be perfect in its out- 
line. We stopped involuntarily, and at that moment 
she turned toward us. Her face was one of noble 
beauty, with great, dark eyes, and a complexion of 
that fine glow which comes to women who are not 
quite brunettes. 

Walkirk started, and seized my arm. “Good 
heavens/’ he whispered, “it is Mother Anastasia ! ” 

As we now advanced toward the lady, I could 
scarcely believe what I had heard. Certainly I could 
not comprehend it. Here was one of the most beau- 
tiful women I had ever beheld, dressed in a robe of 
soft white flannel, which, though simple, was tasteful 
134 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


and elegant. She had a bunch of wild flowers in her 
belt, and at her neck a bow of dark yellow ribbon. I 
particularly noticed these points, in my amazement 
at hearing Walkirk say that this was the Mother 
Superior of the House of Martha. 

As we approached, she greeted us pleasantly, very 
much as if she had expected our coming, and then, 
addressing Walkirk, she said, with a smile : 

“I see, sir, that you recognize me, and I suppose 
you are somewhat surprised to find me here, and thus,” 
glancing at her dress. 

“Surprised, madam ! ” exclaimed Walkirk. “I am 
astounded.” 

“Well,” said she, “that sort of thing will happen 
occasionally. The people on this island have been 
expecting a visit from you gentlemen, but I really do 
not know where any of them are. It is not always 
easy to find them, but I will go and see if the Sand 
Lady is in the house, and, if so, I will tell her of your 
arrival. Of course,” she continued, now turning to 
me, “you both will remember that in this place we 
put ourselves outside of a good many of the ordinary 
conventions, and are known by our characteristics 
instead of our names.” 

I assured her we understood this, and considered it 
an admirable idea. 

“As you, sir,” turning to Walkirk, “have met me 
before, I will immediately state that I am known on 
this island only as the Interpolation. ” 

She turned to walk toward the house, but stopped. 
“We are all here to enjoy ourselves, and it is against 
the rules to worry each other with puzzles. I, there- 
fore, will at once say, in explanation of my name, that 
135 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I have briefly thrust myself into the life of my friends ; 
and, of my appearance, that the Middle-Aged Man of 
the Sea, who is a very self-willed person, caused the 
costume which I ordinarily wear, and in which I 
arrived, to be abstracted and hidden, so that I am 
obliged, while here, to wear clothes belonging to 
others. ISTow, you see, Mr. Understudy, everything is 
as plain as daylight.” 

“They have been talking about us,” I remarked, as 
the lady rapidly walked away, “and, of course, having 
recognized you, she must know who I am.” 

“Know you ? There is no doubt of it,” he answered. 
“She must have seen you often in the village, although 
you may never have noticed her.” 

“I certainly never have,” said I. “In fact, I make 
it a point not to look under the bonnets of those gray- 
garbed women.” 

“When you meet them in the street? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

“She knows us both,” said Walkirk, “and she has 
now gone to the house to tell the people who we are. 
And yet, I am surprised that she met us so serenely. 
She could not possibly have known that the two men 
on that little island were her neighbors in the village 
of Arden.” 

I made no answer. I was strangely excited. I had 
flown to an uninhabited island to get away from Syl- 
via, and, if my conscience could be made to work 
properly, to get away from all thoughts of her, and 
here I had met, most unexpectedly and suddenly, 
with one who was probably the most intimate con- 
nection of the girl from whom I was flying. I was 
amazed. My emotion thrilled me from head to foot. 

136 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“It is just like women / 7 remarked Walkirk, as we 
slowly walked toward the house, “to put on disguises 
to conceal their identities, but they have no respect 
for our identities. Without doubt, at this moment 
Mother Anastasia is telling the lady of the house all 
about you and your grandmother, your position in 
society, and the manner in which you were furnished 
with a secretary from the House of Martha.” 

Still I did not reply. “Mother Anastasia ! 77 I said 
to myself. “Here is a gray -garbed sister transformed 
into a lovely woman. Why should not another sister 
be so transformed ? Why should not Sylvia be here, 
in soft white raiment, with flowers and a broad hat? 
If one can be thus, why not the other ? 77 The possi- 
bility fevered me. 

We found the mistress of the house— the same who 
was called the Sand Lady— upon a piazza. Her de- 
meanor had been pleasant enough when we had seen 
her before, but now she greeted us as cordially as 
if we had been old friends. It was plain that 
Mother Anastasia had told her all about us. Her 
brother and the Shell Man were also there, and the 
first was friendly and the latter polite. The Mother 
Superior was on the piazza, but keeping a little in the 
background, as if she felt that she had had her turn. 

“And now, Mr. Lover in Check and Mr. Under- 
study , 77 said the Sand Lady, “I present you with the 
freedom of this island ; as I have already presented 
you with the freedom of the other. If what we happen 
to be doing interests you, join us. If it does not, in- 
terest yourselves as you please. That is our custom 
here . 77 

The mention of the name which I had applied to 
137 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


myself gave me a little shock. Under the circum- 
stances, I did not like it. It was possible that the 
Mother Superior of the House of Martha might know 
what it meant, and, whether she knew it now, or ever 
should come to know it, I did not wish the knowledge 
to come to her in that way. 

“ There is still another one of our family / 7 said the 
Sand Lady, “but she is very independent, and may 
not care for me to present you just now. I will go 
and ask her . 77 

She stepped off the piazza, and went to a lady who 
was reading in a hammock, under a tree near by. In 
a minute or two, this lady arose, and, with her book 
in her hand, came toward us. She was a woman of 
good figure, and with a certain air of loftiness. Her 
dress was extremely simple, and she may have been 
thirty years old. Approaching us, she said : “I wish 
to introduce myself. I am a Person. In this place 
that is all I am. It is my name. It denotes my 
characteristics. Your titles have been mentioned 
to me. The ceremony is over . 77 And, with a little 
nod, she returned to her hammock. 

“Now , 77 said the Man of the Sea, “who could prune 
away conventionalities better than that ? 77 He then 
announced that in half an hour the tide would serve 
for fishing, that he was going out in his boat, and 
would take any one who cared to accompany him, 
and, this announcement having been made, he settled 
himself upon the piazza to talk to us. The conversa- 
tion was interesting and lively. The people at this 
house were well worth knowing. 

The Sand Lady and Walkirk went in the boat to 
fish. The latter had been very prompt to accept the 
138 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


invitation. I do not know whether the Shell Man 
went with them, or not. At all events, he disappeared, 
and Mother Anastasia and myself were left upon the 
piazza. It surprised me that events had so quickly 
shaped themselves to my advantage. 

“Do you insist/’ I said, when we were left alone, 
“on being called an Interpolation?” 

“Of course I do,” she answered. “That is what I 
am.” 

“You like plain speech.” 

“I am very fond of it,” was her reply. 

During the general conversation, I had determined, 
that, as soon as an opportunity offered, I would speak 
very plainly to this lady. I looked about me. The 
occupant of the hammock was not far away. I sur- 
mised that she could readily hear me if I spoke in my 
ordinary tone. 

“Plain speech appears difficult to you,” remarked 
my companion. 

I still looked about me. “It strikes me,” said I, 
“that beyond the other side of the house there is a 
bluff from which one might get a view of the main- 
land. Would you like to go and find out whether 
that is so, or not? ” 

“I have seen that view several times,” she answered, 
and then, after a little pause, she added, “but I don’t 
mind in the least seeing it again.” 

Together we walked to the bluff. There we found 
two rude seats which had been made for the conveni- 
ence of viewers, and on one of these she seated herself. 

“Now,” said she, “please sit down, and you may 
immediately begin to ask me about Sister Ha—” 

“Oh, do not call her by that name ! ” I cried. 

139 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


She laughed. “Very well, then,” said she, “what 
shall I call her?” 

“Sylvia,” I replied. 

She opened her eyes. “Upon my word,” she ex- 
claimed, “this is progress ! How did yon come to 
know that her name is Sylvia? ” 

“She told me,” I answered. “But why do you 
think I want to ask you about Sylvia? ” 

“I knew there was no other reason for your wishing 
to have a private talk with me. But I must admit 
that I would not have felt warranted to act upon my 
assumptions, had you not announced yourself in this 
place as a Lover in Check.” 

“But could not some one else have held me in 
check ? ” I asked. 

“Ho, sir,” said she. “I have heard of the manner 
in which you parted from your late secretary.” 

This conversation was getting to be plainer than I 
desired it to be. I was willing to declare my position, 
but I did not care to have it declared for me. I was 
silent for a minute. 

“I did not suppose,” I then said, “that you were so 
well informed. You think that I am a lover held in 
check by the circumstances surrounding the lady you 
designated my late secretary?” 

“I do.” 

“May I ask,” I continued, with a little agitation, 
“if Sylvia considers me in this light, and if she has— 
expressed any opinion on the subject?” 

“Those are pretty questions,” said the lady, fixing 
her dark eyes upon me. “She has said nothing about 
the light in which she considers you. In fact, all she 
has told me about you has been in answer to questions 
140 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I have put to her. But, had she spoken of you as a 
lover, checked or unchecked, of course you would have 
been none the wiser for me. Sylvia is a simple-hearted, 
frank girl, and I have thought that she might not have 
suspected the nature of your very decided liki ng for 
her, but now that I have found out that she let you 
know her as Sylvia, I am afraid she is deeper than I 
thought her. I should not be surprised if you two 
had flirted dreadfully.’ 7 

“I never flirt,” I answered emphatically. 

“That is right,” said she. “Never do it.” 

“But why,” I asked, “did you- allow her to continue 
to come to me, if you thought I had a decided liking 
for her, and all that? ” 

“Because I chose to do it,” she replied, with not the 
ripple of a smile nor the furrow of a frown upon her 
face. 

I looked at her in amazement. 

“Madam,” said I, “Interpolation, Mother Anastasia, 
or whatever name you give yourself, begin now and 
tell me about Sylvia, and speak to me freely, as I 
speak to you. I love her with all my heart. If I can, 
I intend to marry her, Martha or no Martha. I care 
not what may be the odds against me. Now you see 
exactly where I stand, and, as far as I am concerned, 
you may speak without restraint.” 

“You are certainly very clear and explicit,” she 
said, “and I shall be glad to tell you about Sylvia.” 


141 


CHAPTER XXY 

ABOUT SYLVIA 

“ Before I begin/’ continued my companion, slanting 
her bat so as to prevent tbe sun from meddling with 
tbe perfect tones of ber complexion, “tell me what 
you already know about tbis young lady. I do not 
wish to waste any information.” 

“All I know,” said I, “is that ber family name is 
Raynor, — my grandmother told me tbat, — tbat sbe is 
absolutely, utterly, and even wickedly out of place in 
tbe House of Martba, and tbat I want ber for my wife.” 

“Very good,” said my companion, with a smile. 
“How I know wbat not to tell you. I am very fond 
of Sylvia. In fact, I believe I love ber better than 
any other woman in the world— ” 

“So do I,” I interrupted. 

Sbe laughed. “For a lover in check, you are entirely 
too ready to move. For years I have looked upon 
ber as a younger sister, and there is no good thing 
which I would not have lavished upon ber, bad I been 
able, but, instead of tbat, I did ber an injury — at 
times, I have thought it a terrible injury.” 

“You mean,” I asked, “tbat you have allowed ber 
to enter the House of Martba? ” 


142 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Your quickness is wonderful/’ she said, “but you 
do not put the case quite correctly. Had it been 
possible for me to prohibit her joining our sisterhood, 
I should have done so. But she was perfectly free to 
do as she pleased, and my advice against it was of no 
avail. It was my example which induced her to enter 
the House of Martha. She had had trouble. She 
wished to retire from the world and devote herself to 
good works which should banish her trouble. I had 
so devoted myself. She loved me, and she followed 
me. I talked to her until I made her unhappy, and 
then I let her go her way. But the great object of 
my life for nearly a year has been to make that girl 
feel that her true way is out of the House of Martha.” 

“Then she is not bound by vows or promises?” I 
asked, with some excitement. 

“Hot in the least,” said she. “She can leave us 
when she pleases. I do not think she likes her life or 
her duties— unless, indeed, they lead her in the direc- 
tion of dictated literature. But she has a firm will, 
and, having joined us, has never shown the slightest 
sign of a desire to leave us. She always asserts that, 
when the proper time arrives, she shall vow herself a 
permanent member of our sisterhood.” 

“What preposterous absurdity!” I exclaimed. 
“She will never conform to your rules. She hates 
nursing. She has too much good sense to insult her 
fine, womanly nature by degrading and unnecessary 
sacrifices.” 

“How delightfully confidential she must have been ! 
But I assure you, sir, that she never said that sort of 
thing to me. There were things she liked, and things 
she did not like, but she showed no signs of rebellion.” 

143 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Which was wise / 7 I said, “knowing that you 
thought she ought not to be there, anyway . 77 

“Oh, but she is a little serpent , 77 exclaimed my com- 
panion, “and so wise to confide in you, and without 
flirting ! It must have been charming to see . 77 

I did not reply to this remark, which I considered 
flippant, and my mind was not inclined to flippancy. 

“It may appear strange to you , 77 she continued, 
“and would probably appear strange to any one who 
did not understand the case, that I should have al- 
lowed her to become your amanuensis. But this whole 
affair is a very peculiar one. In the first place, it is 
absolutely necessary that Sylvia should work. It is 
not only her duty as a sister, but without it she would 
fall into a morbid mental condition. She is not fitted 
in any way for the ordinary labors of our house, so I 
was glad to find something which would not only suit 
her, but would so interest her that it would help to 
draw her away from us, and back into the world, to 
which she rightfully belongs. This must appear an 
odd desire for a mother superior of a religious body, 
but it is founded on an earnest and conscientious re- 
gard for the true welfare of my young friend. 

“And then, there was another reason for my 
allowing her to go to you. You would smile if you 
could picture to yourself the mental image I had 
formed of you, which was founded entirely on your 
grandmothers remarks when she came to see me 
about engaging one of our sisters as your secretary. 
Before this matter was discussed I may have seen you 
in the village, but I never had known you even by 
sight, and, from what that good lady said of you, I 
supposed that you were decidedly middle-aged in 
144 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

feeling, if not in years, that you were extremely grave 
and studious, and wished, when engaged upon literary 
composition, to be entirely oblivious of your surround- 
ings, and that you desired an amanuensis who should 
be simply a writing-machine— who would in no way 
annoy you by intruding upon you any evidence that 
she possessed a personality. A sister from our house, 
your grandmother urged, would be the very person 
you needed, and infinitely better suited to the posi- 
tion than the somewhat frivolous young women who 
very often occupy positions as amanuenses. 

“It was for these reasons that I sent Sylvia to write 
at the dictation of the sedate author of the forthcom- 
ing book on European travel. Even when I heard 
that a love-story had been introduced into the de- 
scriptions of countries, I concluded, after considera- 
tion, not to interfere. I did not think that it would 
be of any disadvantage to Sylvia if she should become 
a little interested in love-affairs, but that you should 
become interested in a love-affair, such as that you 
have mentioned to me, I did not imagine in the re- 
motest degree.” 

“I am sure,” said I, “that your motives, as far as 
Sylvia was concerned, and your action, as far as I am 
concerned, were heaven-born. And now, as we are 
speaking plainly here together, let me ask you if you 
do not think you would be fulfilling what you con- 
sider your duty to Sylvia by aiding me to make her 
my wife ? There can surely be no better way for her 
to fill her proper place in the world than to marry a 
man who loves her with his whole heart. I know 
that I love her above all the world. I believe that I 
am worthy of her.” 


145 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


She answered me in a tone which was grave, but 
gentle : “Do yon not know you are asking me to do 
something which is entirely impossible f In the first 
place, my official position precludes me from taking 
part in affairs of this nature, and although I am will- 
ing to admit that I see no reason why you might not 
be a suitable partner for Sylvia, I must also admit 
that, on the other hand, I have no reason to believe 
that Sylvia would be inclined to accept you as such a 
partner. I have no doubt that she has made herself 
very agreeable to you— that is her nature. I know 
that she used to make herself very agreeable to people. 
You must remember that, even should Sylvia leave 
us, your chances may be no better than they are now.” 

“Madam,” I said, leaning toward her, and speaking 
with great earnestness, “I will take all possible 
chances ! What I ask and implore of you is that, if 
you should ever be able to do the least little thing 
which would give me the opportunity to plead my 
own suit before Sylvia, you would do it. I can give 
her position and fortune. I think I am suited to her, 
and if love can make me better suited, I have love 
enough. Now, tell me, will you not do this thing 1 ? 
If you have the opportunity, and see no reason against 
it, will you not help me f ” 

“This is a hard position for me,” she said, after a 
pause, “and all I can promise you is this : I love Syl- 
via, and I am going to do whatever I think will be of 
the greatest advantage to her.” 

“Then,” I asserted, with continued earnestness, “it 
shall be my labor to prove that to love the man who 
loves her as I do will be her greatest good ! If I do 
that, will you be on my side ! ” 

146 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


She smiled, looked at me a few moments, and then 
answered, “Yes.” 

“Your hand upon it ! ” I cried, leaning still farther 
forward. She laughed at the enthusiastic warmth of 
my manner, and gave me her hand. 

“It is a promise !” I exclaimed, and was about to 
raise her fingers to my lips, when she quickly drew 
them away. 

“I declare,” she said, rising as she spoke, “I did not 
suppose that you would forget that I am the Mother 
Superior of the House of Martha.” 

“Excuse me,” I replied, “but you are not that. With 
your own mouth you have assured me that you are an 
Interpolation, and there is nothing in a social or moral 
law which forbids a suitable expression of gratitude to 
an Interpolation.” 

“Sir,” said she, “I think I have seen quite as much 
as is necessary of the view which you asked me here 
to look upon.” 


147 


CHAPTER XXYI 

MOTHER ANASTASIA 

In the half-hour during which I remained alone upon 
the bluff, awaiting the return of Walkirk and the 
fishing-party, I thought as much of the lady with 
whom I had been talking as the lady of whom I had 
been talking. 

“How is it possible,” I asked myself, “that this gen- 
tlewoman, warm with her rich-blooded beauty, alive 
with ripe youth, born to delight the soul of man and 
fire his heart, should content herself to be a head 
nurse in a hospital, to wander in an unsightly disguise 
among dismal sick-beds, to direct the management of 
measles refuges, to shut herself up in a bare-floored, 
cold- walled institution with narrow-minded Sister 
Sarahs— to be, in a word, the Mother Superior of the 
House of Martha^ ” 

That she should occupy this position seemed to me 
a crime. There were many women in the world 
who could do all she was doing, but there were few 
who could take her place in the world of full, true 
life. 

When the fishing-party returned, I went to the 
house to take leave of our new friends. 


148 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“ You must go ? ” said the Sand Lady. “And where, 
may I ask, is it imperative that you should go f ” 

“To the island where you have so kindly allowed 
us to sojourn,” I replied. 

“You sleep in the cabin of your boat, I believe?” 
she said, and I answered that we did. 

“Very well, then,” continued she, “why not bring 
your floating home to this island ? It is in every way 
better than that. I will give you exclusive rights 
over a little bay and an adjoining dell. There you 
can cook your own meals when you like, or you can 
come to us when you like. "We always have more than 
enough for all who inhabit this island. In the even- 
ing you can sit alone on the beach and think of the 
far-away loved one, or you can come up to the house 
and play whist or ( twenty questions.’ The Understudy 
can go fishing with my brother. They suit each other 
admirably. What do you say ? ” 

“I say, madam,” I replied, with a bow, “the sands 
of which you are the lady are the dust of diamonds, 
and your invitation is a golden joy.” 

“Bless me ! ” she exclaimed, “what must you be out 
of check?” 

That evening we sailed to Racket Island, brought 
away our belongings, and established ourselves in the 
landlocked little bay, about a quarter of a mile from 
the house of the Sand Lady. 

Early the next morning, I walked around to a pier 
where I had noticed a good-sized yacht was moored. 
It was still there. Apparently, no one had left the 
island. After our breakfast on the beach, I told Wal- 
kirk to devote himself to independent occupations, 
and walked up to the house. I found the lady who 
149 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


had called herself a Person, and the one of whom I 
did not like to think as an Interpolation, sitting to- 
gether upon the piazza. I joined them. 

“Wouldn’t you be very much obliged to me,” asked 
the Person, after a scattering conversation, in which I 
suppose I appeared as but a perfunctory performer, “if 
I were to go away and leave you alone with this lady ? ” 

“As this is an island of plain speaking,” I replied, 
“I will say, yes.” 

Both ladies laughed, and the Person retired to her 
hammock. 

“Now, then,” asked Mother Anastasia, “what is the 
meaning of this alarming frankness ? ” 

“I wish to talk to you of Sylvia,” I answered. 

“If you imagine,” she said, “that I intend to spend 
the short time I shall remain upon this island in talk- 
ing of Sylvia, you are very much mistaken.” 

“Then let us talk of yourself,” I replied. 

She turned upon me with a frown and a laugh. 

“If I had known,” she said, “your habits of ingenu- 
ousness and candor, I should have made you dictate to 
Sylvia through a speaking-tube. Y ou have known me 
less than a day. You have known her for a month. 
Can it be possible that you talk to her as freely as 
you talk to me ? ” 

“Madam,” I exclaimed, “I love Sylvia, and, there- 
fore, could not speak freely to her.” 

“Your distinctions are wonderfully clear-cut,” she 
said. “But why do you wish to talk of me ? I suppose 
you want to know why I am Mother Superior of the 
House of Martha 1 ? ” 

“Yes,” I answered, “that is a thing I cannot under- 
stand. But, of course, I should not feel justified in 
150 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


even alluding to it if yesterday you had not so 
kindly given me your confidence in regard to your- 
self and Sylvia.” 

“It seems to me,” she remarked, “that, as yon de- 
cline to recognize the name given to that young 
woman by our institution, you should call her Miss 
Raynor. But I will say no more of that.” 

“It would be well,” said I. “She is Sylvia to me. 
You must remember that I never met her in the 
circles of conventionalism.” 

She laughed. “This whole affair is certainly very 
independent of conventionalism, and, as to your curi- 
osity about me, that is very easily gratified. Nearly 
five years ago, I connected myself with the House of 
Martha. Although there were sisters older than 
myself, I was chosen Mother Superior, because I 
possessed rather more administrative abilities than 
any of the others. I think I have governed the 
house fairly well, even if, in regard to the matter of 
furnishing secretaries to literary men, there has been 
some dissatisfaction.” 

“You allude to Sister Sarah? ” -said I. 

“Yes,” she answered, “and, had she been head of 
the house, your peace of mind would not have been 
disturbed. But what I did in that ease, I did con- 
scientiously and with good intent.” 

“And you are not sorry for it? ” I asked. 

“It may be that I shall be sorry for you,” she re- 
plied, “but that is all I have to say on that point. In 
a very short time I shall return to my duties, and to 
my sombre bonnet and gown, and these interpolated 
days, which, in a manner, have been forced upon me, 
should be forgotten.” 


151 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“But one thing you must not forget/’ I exclaimed : 
“it was in this time that you promised me— ” 

“You selfish, selfish man ! ” she interrupted. “You 
think only of yourself. I shall talk no more of your- 
self, of myself, or of Sylvia. My friends are at the 
other side of the house, and I am going to them.” 
And she went. 

While Walkirk and I were sailing that afternoon, 
he managing the boat, and I stretched upon some 
cushions, I told him of my conversations with Mother 
Anastasia. I considered him worthy of my confidence, 
and it was pleasant to give it to him. 

“She is a rare, strange woman,” said he. “I thought 
her very handsome when I visited her at the House of 
Martha, but since I have seen her here, dressed in 
becoming clothes, I consider that she possesses phe- 
nomenal attractions.” 

“And I hope,” I remarked, “that she may be phe- 
nomenally good-natured, and give me some chances 
of seeing Sylvia Raynor.” 

“That would, indeed, be phenomenal,” said Walkirk, 
laughing, “considering that she is a mother superior, 
and the young lady is a member of the sisterhood. 
But everything relating to the case is peculiar, and, in 
my opinion, Mother Anastasia is more peculiar than 
anything else.” 

That evening we were invited to dine at the house of 
the Sand Lady. It was a delightful occasion. Every- 
body was in good spirits, and the general tone of the 
conversation was singularly lively and unrestrained. 
Mother Anastasia would not play cards, but we amused 
ourselves with various sprightly social games, in which 
the lady who preferred to be called a Person showed 
152 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


a vivacious though sometimes nipping wit. I had no 
opportunity for further private talk with Mother 
Anastasia, nor did I desire one. I wished to interest 
her in my love for Sylvia, but not to bore her with it. 

The next day, at about eleven o’clock, the Sand 
Lady and the Shell Man walked over to our little 
bay, where they found Walkirk and me fencing upon 
the level beach. 

“Stop your duel, gentlemen,” said the lady. “I 
come to give you the farewells of the Interpolation. 
She was sorry she could not do this herself, but she 
went away very early this morning.” 

“Went away ! ” I cried, dropping my foil upon the 
sand. “Where did she go?” 

“She sailed in our yacht for Sanford,” answered the 
Sand Lady, “to take the morning train for her be- 
loved House of Martha. My brother accompanied 
her to the town, but he will be back to-day.” 

I was surprised and grieved, and showed it. 

“We are all sorry to have her go,” said the Sand 
Lady, “and sorry to see her wearing that doleful gray 
garb, which my brother allowed her to assume this 
morning.” 

“I am glad,” I exclaimed, “that I did not see her 
in it ! ” 

The lady looked at me with her pleasant, quiet 
smile. 

“You seem very much interested in her.” 

“I am,” I replied, “very much interested, both 
directly and indirectly, and I am exceedingly sorry 
that she departed without my knowing it.” 

This time the Sand Lady laughed. “ Good morning, 
gentlemen,” said she. “Go on with your duel.” 

153 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A PERSON 

I fenced no more. “Walkirk,” I cried, “let us get 
our traps on board, and be off ! ” 

My understudy looked troubled— more troubled 
than I had ever seen him before. 

“Why do you think of this?” he asked. “Where 
do you propose to go ? ” 

“Home,” said I, “to my own house. That is the 
place where I want to be.” 

Walkirk stood still and looked at me, his face still 
wearing an air of deep concern. 

“It is not my place to advise,” he said, “but it 
seems to me that your return at this moment would 
have a very odd appearance, to say the least. Every 
one would think that you were pursuing Mother 
Anastasia, and she herself would think so.” 

“Ho,” said I, “she will not suppose anything of the 
kind. She will know very well on whose account I 
came. And as for the people here, they might labor 
under a mistake at first, because, of course, I should 
not offer them any explanation, but they would soon 
learn the real state of the case— that is, if they corre- 
spond with the Mother Superior.” 

154 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“You propose, then,” said Walkirk, “to lay siege 
to the House of Martha, and to carry away, if you can, 
Miss Sylvia Raynor?” 

“I have made no plans,” I answered, “but I can 
look after my interests better in Arden than I can 
here. I do not like this sudden departure of the 
Mother Superior. I very much fear that something 
has induced her to withdraw the good will with which 
she previously seemed to look upon my attachment to 
Miss Raynor. Were this not so, she would have 
advised with me before she left. Nothing could have 
been more natural. Now I believe she has set herself 
against me, and has gone away with the intention of 
permanently separating Sylvia and myself.” 

“Have you any reason,” asked Walkirk, “to impute 
such an intention to her?” 

“Her sudden flight indicates it,” I replied ; “and 
besides, you know, although she is not a Roman 
Catholic, she is at the head of a religious house, and 
persons in that position are naturally averse to any- 
body marrying the sisters under their charge. Even 
if she does not approve of Miss Raynor’s remaining in 
the house, she may not want her to date a love-affair 
from the establishment. If I remain here, Miss Raynor 
may be spirited entirely out of my sphere of action.” 

“It strikes me,” said Walkirk, “the way to get her 
spirited out of your sight and knowledge is for you to 
go home at this juncture. In that case, Mother Anas- 
tasia would be bound, in duty to the young lady and 
her family, to send her away. Do you not agree with 
me that if you were to reach Arden in the natural 
course of events, so to speak, and especially if you got 
there after your grandmother had returned, you would 
155 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


avoid a great deal of undesirable complication, and 
perhaps actual opposition?” 

“You are right,” I answered. “It would not look 
well for me to start away so suddenly. We will wait 
a day or two, and then drop off naturally.” 

Walking toward the house, in the afternoon, I met 
the Person. She advanced toward me, holding out 
her hand with an air of peremptory friendliness. 

“I am heartily glad to see you. I want you to 
amuse me. I could not ask this of you so long as that 
fascinating abbess was on the island.” 

I was a little surprised at this salutation, and not at 
all pleased. I did not fancy this lady. She had an 
air as if she were availing herself of her right to be 
familiar with her inferiors. 

“I fear it is not in my power to do anything to 
amuse you,” said I. 

“Entirely too modest,” she answered. “Let us walk 
over to this bench in the shade. You are not desired 
at the house : everybody is taking a nap.” 

I went with her to the bench she had pointed out, 
and we sat down. 

“Now, then,” said she, turning toward me, “will 
you do me the favor to flirt with me?— say for twenty - 
five minutes,” looking at her watch. “That will bring 
us to four o’clock, when I must go indoors.” 

At first I thought the woman was insane, but a 
glance at her face showed that there was no reason 
for fear of that kind. 

“That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” she asked, “but it 
isn’t. It is an honest expression of a very natural 
wish. Hundreds of ladies have doubtless looked at 
you and had that wish, but social conventions forbade 
156 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


their expressing it. Here we have no conventions, 
and I speak my mind.” 

“Madam,” said I, “or miss, there are few things I 
hold in such abhorrence as flirtation.” As I said this 
I looked at her severely, and she looked at me quizzi- 
cally. She had gray eyes, which were capable of a 
great variety of expressions, and her face, suffused by 
the light of a bantering jocularity, was an attractive 
one. I was obliged to admit this, in spite of my dis- 
taste for her. 

“I like that,” she said. “It sounds so well, after 
your vigorous flirtation with our abbess. If I had not 
seen a good deal of that, I should not have dared to 
ask you to flirt with me. I thought you liked it, and, 
now that she is gone, might be willing to take up with 
some one else.” 

I was irritated and disquieted. I had been very 
earnest in my attentions to Mother Anastasia. Per- 
haps this lady had seen me attempt to kiss her hand. 
I must set myself right. 

“You are utterly mistaken,” said I. “What I had 
to say to Mother Anastasia related entirely to another 
person.” 

“One of the sisters in her institution?” she asked. 
“She has nothing to do with any other persons, so far 
as I know. Truly, that is a capital idea ! ” she ex- 
claimed, without waiting for response from me. “In 
order to flirt with a member of the sisterhood, a gen- 
tleman must direct his attentions to the Mother 
Superior who represents them, and the flirting is thus 
done by proxy. How, don’t attempt to correct me. 
The idea is entirely too delightful for me to allow it 
to be destroyed by any bare statements or assertions.” 

157 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I suppose,” I answered, “that Mother Anastasia 
has taken you into her confidence ? ” 

“Thank you very much for that most gratifying 
testimony to my powers of insight ! ” she cried. “The 
Mother Superior gave me no confidences. So you 
have been smitten by a gray-gown. How did you 
happen to become acquainted with her? I do not 
imagine they allow gentleman visitors at the House 
of Martha?” 

“Madam, you know, or assume to know, so much of 
my affairs,” said I, “that, in order to prevent injurious 
conjectures regarding the House of Martha, its officers 
and inmates, I shall say that I became acquainted in 
a perfectly legitimate manner with a young lady living 
therein, who has not yet taken the vows of the per- 
manent sisterhood, and I intend, as soon as circum- 
stances will permit, to make her an offer of marriage. 
I assure you, I regret extremely that I have been 
obliged to talk in this way to a stranger, and nothing 
could have induced me to do it but the fear that your 
conjectures and surmises might make trouble. I ask, 
as a right, that you will say no more of the matter to 
any one.” 

“Would you mind telling me the lady’s name ? ” she 
asked. 

“Of course, I shall do no such thing,” I answered, 
rising from my seat, with my face flushing with in- 
dignation. 

“This is odd flirting, isn’t it?” said she, still retain- 
ing her seat. “A quarrel at the very outset ! I shall 
not be prevented from informing you why you ought 
to tell me the name of the lady. You see if you 
don’t give me her name, my ungovernable curiosity 
158 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

will set me to working the matter out for myself, and 
it is quite as likely as not that I shall go to the House 
of Martha, and ask questions, and pry, and watch, and 
make no end of trouble. If a blooming bride is to be 
picked from that flock of ash-colored gruel-mixers, I 
want to know who it is to be. I used to be acquainted 
with a good many of them, but I haven’t visited the 
house for some time.” 

I had never known any one to assume toward me a 
position so unjustifiable and so unseemly as that in 
which this lady had deliberately placed herself. I 
could find no words to express my opinion of her con- 
duct, and was on the point of walking away, when she 
rose and quickly stepped to my side. 

“ Don’t go away angry,” she said. “On this island 
we don’t get angry— it is too conventional. I am 
bound to find out all about this affair, because it in- 
terests me. It is something quite out of the common, 
and although you are, in a measure, right in saying 
that I have nothing to do with your affairs, you must 
know you have, in a measure, mixed yourself up with 
my affairs. I am one of the original subscribers to 
the House of Martha, and used to take a good deal of 
interest in the establishment, as was my right and 
privilege. But the sisters bored me after a time, and 
as I have been travelling in Europe for more than a 
year, I now know very little of what has been going 
on there. But if there is a young woman in that 
house who prefers marriage to hospital life, and tailor- 
made costumes to ash-bags, I say that she has mistaken 
her vocation, and ought to be helped out of it, and 
although I know you to be a pretty peppery gentle- 
man, I am perfectly willing to help her in your direc- 
159 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


tion, if that is the way she wants to go. I offer myself 
to yon as an ally. Take me on your side, and tell me 
all about it. It would be perfectly ridiculous to let 
me go down there imagining that this or that under- 
done-griddle-cake-faced young woman was your lady- 
love. I might make mistakes, and do more harm than 
good.” 

“ Madam,” I replied, “let us have done with this. I 
have never said one word to the young lady in ques- 
tion of my feelings toward her, and it is in the highest 
degree improper and unjust that she should be dis- 
cussed in connection with them. I have laid the 
matter before Mother Anastasia, as she stands in the 
position of parent to the young lady, but with no one 
else can I possibly act, or even discuss the subject.” 
And I bowed. 

“I don’t like this,” she said, without noticing that 
I had taken leave of her. “Mother Anastasia did not 
intend to leave here until to-morrow, and she went 
away early this morning. She has some pressing busi- 
ness on hand, and, ten chances to one, she has gone to 
fillip your young lady out of your sight and hearing. 
Don’t you see that it would not look at all well for 
one of her sisters to marry, or even to receive the at- 
tentions of a gentleman, immediately after she had 
left the institution 1 ?” 

This suggestion, so like my own suspicions, greatly 
disturbed me. 

“Are you in earnest,” said I, “or is all this chaff? 
What reasonable interest can you take in me and my 
affairs ? ” 

“I take no interest whatever,” said she, “excepting 
that I have heard you are both eccentric and respect- 
160 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


able, and that I have found yon amusing, and in this 
class of people I am always interested. But I will 
say to you that if there is a woman in that house who 
might make a suitable and satisfactory marriage, if an 
opportunity were allowed her, I believe she should be 
allowed the opportunity, and, acting upon general 
principles of justice and a desire to benefit my fellow- 
mortals, I should use my influence to give it to her. 
So you see that I should really be acting for the girl, 
and not for you, although, of course, it would amount 
to the same thing. And if Mother Anastasia has gone 
to pull down the curtain on this little drama, I am all 
the more anxious to jerk it up again. Come, now, Mr. 
Lover in Check,— and, when I first heard your name, I 
had no idea how well it fitted,— confide in me. It 
would delight me to be in this fight, and you can see 
for yourself that it would be a very humdrum matter 
for me to join your opponents, even if I should be of 
their opinion. They do not need my help.” 

This argument touched me. I needed help. 
Should Mother Anastasia choose to close the doors of 
the House of Martha against me, what could I do? 
It might divert this lady to act on my behalf. If she 
procured an interview for me with Sylvia, I would 
ask no more of her. There was nothing to risk, except 
that Sylvia might be offended if she heard that she 
had been the object of compacts. But something 
must be risked, otherwise I might be simply butting 
my head against monastic brickwork. 

“ Madam,” said I, “whatever your motives may be, 
I accept your offer to fight on my side, and the sooner 
the battle begins, the better. The young lady to whom 
I wish to offer myself in marriage, and with whom I 
161 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


am most eager to meet, is Miss Sylvia Raynor, a 
novice, or something of the kind, in the House of 
Martha.” 

With her brows slightly knitted, as if she did not 
exactly understand my words, my companion looked 
at me for an instant. Then her eyes sparkled, her lips 
parted, and a flush of quick comprehension passed 
over her face. She put back her head and laughed 
until she almost lost her breath. I looked upon her, 
shocked and wounded to the soul. 

“ Pardon me,” she said, her eyes filled with the tears 
of laughter, “but it can’t be helped. I withdraw my 
offer. I cannot be on your side— at least, just now. 
But I shall remain neutral— you can count on that.” 
And, still laughing, she went ner way. 

Any one more disagreeably unpleasant than this 
woman I had never met. When I told Walkirk what 
had happened, I could not restrain my burning indig- 
nation, and I declared I would not remain another 
hour on the island with her. He listened to me with 
grave concern. 

“This is very unfortunate,” he said, “but do not let 
us be precipitate.” 


162 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE FLOATING GROCERY 

I now positively decided that the next day I would 
leave this island, where people flew off at such disa- 
greeable tangents. But, as I was here on invitation, I 
could not go away without taking leave of my hostess. 
Accordingly, in the evening Walkirk and I went up 
to the house. 

The Sand Lady was manifestly grieved when she 
heard of our intended departure, and her brother was 
quite demonstrative in his expressions of regret. Even 
the Shell Man, who had discovered in Walkirk some 
tastes similar to his own, demurred at our going. The 
Person, however, made no allusion to the subject, and 
gave us, indeed, as little of her society as she appar- 
ently did of her thoughts. 

In order not to produce the impression that I was 
running after Mother Anastasia, as Walkirk had put 
it, I announced that we should continue our cruise for 
an indefinite time. I was sorry to leave these good 
people, but to stay with that mocking enigma of a 
woman was impossible. She had possessed herself, in 
the most crafty and unwarrantable manner, of infor- 
mation which she had no right to receive^ and I had 
163 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

no right to give, and then contemptuously laughed in 
my face. My weakness may have deserved the con- 
tempt, hut that made no difference in my opinion of 
the woman who had inflicted it upon me. I was glad, 
when we bade good night and farewell to the little 
party, that the Person was not present. 

But early the next morning, just as we were hoisting 
sail on our boat, this lady appeared, walking rapidly 
down to our beach. She was dressed in a light morn- 
ing costume, with some sort of a gauzy fabric thrown 
over her head, and if I had not hated her so thor- 
oughly, I should have considered her a very picturesque 
and attractive figure. 

“I am glad I am in time,” she called out. “I don’t 
want you to go away with too bad an opinion of me, 
and I came to say that what you have confided to me 
is just as safe with me as it would be with anybody 
else. Do you think you can believe that, if you try ? ” 

It was impossible for me to make any answer to this 
woman, but I took off my hat and bowed. The sail 
filled, and we glided away. 

Walkirk was not in good spirits. It was plain 
enough that he liked the Tangent Island and wanted 
to stay, and he had good reason, for he had found 
pleasant company, and this could not always be said 
to be the case when sailing in a small boat or camping 
out with me. My intention was to sail to a town on 
the mainland, some thirty miles distant, there leave 
our boat, and take a train for Arden. This, I con- 
sidered, was sacrificing to appearances as much time 
as I could allow. 

But the breeze was light and fitful, and we made 
but little progress, and, about the middle of the fore- 
164 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


noon, a fog came slowly creeping up from tlie sea. It 
grew thicker and heavier, until, in an hour or two, we 
were completely shut out from all view of the world 
about us. There was now no wind. Our sail hung 
damp and flabby. Moisture, silence, and obscurity 
were upon us. 

The rest of the day we sat doleful, waiting for the 
fog to lift and the wind to rise. My fear was that we 
might drift out to sea or upon some awkward shoals, 
for, though everything else was still, the tide would 
move us. What Walkirk feared, if anything, I do 
not know, but he kept up a good heart, and rigged a 
lantern some little distance aloft, which he said might 
possibly keep vessels from running into us. He also 
performed, at intervals, upon a cornet which he had 
brought with him. This was a very wise thing to do, 
but, for some reason or other, such music, in a fog, 
depressed my spirits. However, as it seemed quite 
suitable to the condition of my affairs, I did not inter- 
fere, and the notes of “ Bonnie Doon 77 or “My Old 
Kentucky Home 77 continued to be soaked into the fog. 

Night came on. The fog still enveloped us, and the 
situation became darker. We had our supper, and I 
turned in, with the understanding that at midnight I 
was to take the watch, and let Walkirk sleep. It was 
of no use to make ourselves any more uncomfortable 
than need be. 

It was between two and three o’clock when I was 
called to go on watch, and after I had been sitting in 
the stern, smoking and thinking, for an hour or more, 
I noticed that the light on the mast had gone out. 
It was, however, growing lighter, and, fancying that 
the fog was thinner, I trusted to the coming of the 
165 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


day and a breeze, and made no attempt to take down 
and refill the lantern. 

Not long after this, my attention was attracted by 
something which appeared like the nucleus of a dark 
cloud forming in the air, a short distance above the 
water, and not far away on our port quarter. Rapidly 
the cloud grew bigger and blacker. It moved toward 
us, and in a few moments, before I had time to collect 
my thoughts and arouse Walkirk, it was almost upon 
us, and then I saw that it was the stern of a vessel, 
looming high above my head. 

I gave a wild shout. Walkirk dashed out of his 
bunk. There was a call from above. Then I felt a shock, 
and our boat keeled over on her starboard side. In 
a moment, however, she receded from the other vessel, 
and righted herself. I do not know that Walkirk had 
ever read in a book what he ought to do in such an 
emergency, but he seized a boat-hook and pushed our 
boat away from the larger vessel. 

“That’s right ! ” cried a voice from above. “I’ll 
heave ye a line. Keep her off till we have drifted 
past ye, and then I’ll haul ye in.” 

Slowly the larger vessel, which was not very large, 
but which drifted faster than our little boat, floated 
past us, until we were in tow at her bow. We could 
now see the form of a man leaning over the rail of the 
vessel, and he called out to us to know if we were 
damaged, and if we wanted to come aboard. I was 
about to reply that we were all right, and would 
remain where we were, when Walkirk uttered an 
exclamation. 

“We are taking in water by the bucketful,” said 
he. “Our side has been stove in.” 


166 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Impossible ! ” I exclaimed. “We were not struck 
with enough force for that.” 

But examination proved that he was correct. One 
or more of our planks had been broken just below 
the water-line, and our boat was filling, though not 
rapidly. 

“Stoved in, eh?” shouted the voice from above. 
“Well, ye needn’t sink. I’ll haul yer bowline taut, 
and I’ll heave ye another to make fast to yer stern. 
That’ll keep yer little craft afloat until ye can unlade 
her, and the quicker ye get yer traps up here, the 
better, if ye don’t want ’em soaked.” 

Acting upon these suggestions, Walkirk and I went 
vigorously to work, and passed up our belongings as 
rapidly as possible to the man above, who, by leaning 
over the rails, could easily reach them. When every- 
thing movable had been taken out of our boat, the 
man let down a ladder, and I climbed on board the 
larger vessel, after which he came down to our boat, 
detached the boom, gaff, and sail, and unshipped the 
mast, all of which we afterwards hoisted on board his 
vessel by means of a block and tackle. 

“Now, then,” said our new companion, “ye’re safe, 
and yer boat can capsize, if it’s a mind to, but it can’t 
sink, and when it’s better daylight, and Abner’s on 
deck, perhaps we’ll rig out a couple of spars and haul 
her up at the stern. But there’s time enough to settle 
all that. And now, I’d like to know how ye came to 
be driftin’ around here with no light out.” 

I explained, but added that I had not seen any light 
on his vessel. 

“Well,” said the man, looking upward, “that light’s 
out, and, ten to one, it was out when we run inter ye. 

167 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I ’spect Abner didn’t calkerlate for fillin’ it for day- 
work and night-work, too.” 

The speaker was a grizzled man, middle-aged, and 
rather too plump for a sailor. He had a genial, good- 
natured countenance, and, so far as I could see, was 
the only occupant of the vessel. 

His craft was truly a peculiar one. It was sloop- 
rigged, and on the after part of the deck, occupying 
about one third of the length of the vessel, was a 
structure resembling a small one-storied house, which 
rose high above the rest of the deck, like the poop of 
an old-fashioned man-of-war. In the gable end of 
this house, which faced upon the deck, there was a 
window and a door. The boom of the mast was rigged 
high enough to allow it to sweep over the roof. 

“I reckon you gents think this is a queer kind of a 
craft,” said the man, with a grin of pleasure at our 
evident curiosity, a and if ye think that, ye are about 
right, for there isn’t jist such another one, as far as I 
know. This is a floatin’ grocery, and I am captain of 
the sloop, or keeper of the store, jist as it happens. 
In that house there is a good stock of flour, sugar, 
feed, trimmin’s, notions, and small dry-goods, with 
some tinware and pottery, and a lot of other things 
which you commonly find in a country grocery store. 
I have got the trade of about half the families in this 
bay, all of them on the islands, and a good many of 
them on the mainland, especially sech as has piers of 
their own. I have regular days for touchin’ at all 
the different p’ints, and it is a mighty nice thing, I 
can tell ye, to have yer grocery store come round to 
ye, instead of yer havin’ to go to it, especially if ye 
live on an island or out in the country.” 

168 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Walkirk and I were very much interested in this 
floating grocery store, which was an entirely novel 
thing to us, and we asked a good many questions 
about it. 

“ There’s only me and Abner aboard,” said the 
grocer-skipper, “but that’s enough, for we do a good 
deal more anchorin’ than sailin’. Abner he’s head 
clerk, and don’t pretend to be no sailor at all, but he 
lays a-hold of anything I tell him to, and that’s all I 
ask of him in the sailorin’ line. But he is first-class 
behind the counter, I can tell ye, and in keepin’ the 
books I couldn’t find nobody like Abner— not in this 
State. H o w, it may strike ye, gents, that I am not much 
of a sailor, neither, to be driftin’ about here at night 
in this fog, instead of anchorin’ and tootin’ a fog-horn. 
But, ye see, I did anchor in the fore part of the night, 
and after Abner had gone to his bunk— we don’t keep 
regular watches, but kinder divide the night between 
us, when we are out on the bay, which isn’t common, 
for we like to tie up at night, and do our sailin’ in the 
daytime— it struck me that, as the tide was runnin’ 
out, we might as well let it take us to Simpson’s Bar, 
which, if ye don’t know this bay, is a big, shallow 
place, where there is always water enough for us, 
bein’ a good deal on the flat-bottomed order, but 
where almost any steamin’ craft at low tide would 
stick in the mud before they could run into us. So 
thinks I, ‘If we want to get on in the direction of 
Widder Kinley’s (whose is the last house I serve down 
the bay), and to feel safe, besides, we had better up 
anchor,’ and I upped it. But I had ought to remem- 
bered about that light. It wasn’t the square thing to 
be driftin’ about without the light— no more fer me 
169 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


than fer ye. I’ve sounded a good many times, but we 
don’t seem to have reached the bar yet. It must be 
pretty near time fer Abner to turn out.” And he 
looked at his watch. 

“Your assistant must be a sound sleeper,” I re- 
marked. 

“Yes, he is,” replied the man. “He needs lots of 
sleep, and I make it a p’int to give it to him. If it 
isn’t positively necessary, I don’t wake him up until 
the regular time. Of course, if it had been our boat 
that had been stoved in, and she had been like to 
sink, I’d have called Abner. But as it was yer boat, 
and none of us was in no danger, I didn’t call him. 
Here he is, though, on time.” 

At this, a tall, lean man, not quite so much grizzled 
as the other, made his appearance on deck. He gazed 
from one to the other of us, and upon our various 
belongings, which were strewn upon the deck, with 
undisguised amazement. 

His companion laughed aloud. “I don’t wonder, 
Abner,” he cried, “that ye open yer eyes. ’T ain’t 
often two gentlemen come on board in the night, bag 
and baggage, but these two stoved in their boat ag’in’ 
our rudder, and here they are, with their craft triced 
up to keep her from sinkin’.” 

Abner made no answer, but walked to the side of 
the vessel, looked over, and satisfied himself that this 
last statement was correct. 

“Capt’n Jabe,” said he, turning to the other, “we 
can’t sail much, can we, with that thing hangin’ 
there ? ” 

“Well, now, Abner,” replied the captain, “we are 
not sailin’ at the present time— we are driftin’. Fer it 
170 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

is my idee to drop anchor as soon as we get to Simp- 
son’s Bar, and this tide is hound to carry us over it, if 
we wait long enough, so we must keep soundin’, and 
not slip over without knowin’ it.” 

“It strikes me,” said Abner, “that we should save a 
lot of trouble if we should put the anchor out and let 
it hang. Then, when we come to the bar, she’ll ketch 
and fetch us up without our havin’ it on our minds.” 

“You see, gents,” said Captain Jabe to ns, “Abner 
don’t pretend to be no sailor, but he’s got his idees 
about navigation, fer all that.” 

Abner took no notice of this remark. “Capt’n,” 
said he, “does these gents want to turn in? ” 

“Not till they have had some breakfast,” replied 
Captain Jabe, and we assented. 

“All right,” said Abner. “I’ll tackle the grub.” 
And opening the door of the grocery store, he went 
inside. In a few minutes he reappeared. “Capt’n,” 
said he, in a voice which he intended to be an aside, 
“are yon goin’ to count ’em as mealers, or as if they 
was visitin’ the family?” 

Captain Jabe laughed. “Well, Abner,” said he, “I 
guess we will count them as mealers, though I don’t 
intend to make no charge.” 

Abner nodded, and again entered the little house. 

“What are ‘ mealers ’ ? ” I asked of the captain. 

“In this part of the country,” he answered, “there’s 
a good many city folks comes for the summer, and 
they take houses, but they don’t want the trouble of 
cookin’, so they make a contract with some one livin’ 
near to give them their meals regular, and this sort of 
folks goes by the general name of mealers. What 
Abner wanted to know fer was about openin’ the 
171 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


cans. You see, most of our victuals is in cans, and if 
Abner knowed you was regular payin’ mealers, he 
would open fresh ones, but if you was visitin’ the 
family, he’d make you help eat up what was left in 
the cans, jist as we do ourselves.” 

It was not long before the thrifty Abner had given 
us a substantial breakfast, and then Walkirk and I 
were glad to take possession of a couple of spare 
bunks, for we were tired and sleepy, and the monoto- 
nous fog still hung around us. 

It was about noon when I waked and went on deck, 
where I found Walkirk, Captain Jabe, and Abner 
engaged in consultation. There was a breeze blowing, 
and every particle of fog had disappeared. 

u We’ve been considerin’,” said the captain, address- 
ing me, “ what’s the best thing to do with yer boat. 
There’s no use tryin’ to tinker her up, for she has got 
a bad hole in her, and it is our fault, too. One of the 
iron bands on our rudder got broke and sprung out a 
good while ago, and it must have been the sharp end 
of that which punched into yer boat when we drifted 
down on her. We ain’t got no tackle suitable to h’ist 
her on board, and as to towin’ her,— a big boat like 
that, full of water,— ’t ain’t possible. We’ve lost a lot 
of time already, and now there’s a good wind, and we 
are bound to make the best of it. So me and Abner 
thinks the best thing ye can do is to sink yer boat 
right here on the bar where we are now anchored, 
having struck it all right, as ye see, and mark the 
spot with an oil-cag. Anybody that knows this bay 
can come and git her, if she is on Simpson’s Bar, 
buoyed with an oil-cag.” 

I was sorry that we should not be able to repair our 
172 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


boat and continue our trip in her, but I saw that this 
would be impossible, and I asked Captain Jabe if he 
could take us to Brimley. 

“I can do that,” he answered, “but not straight. I 
have got fust to sail over to Widder Kinley’s, which 
is on that p’int which ye can jist see over there on the 
edge of the water, and where I was due yesterday 
afternoon. Then I’ve got to touch at three or four 
other places along the east shore, and then, if this 
wind holds, I guess I can git across the bay to my 
own house, where I have got to lay up all day to- 
morrer. The next day is Saturday, and then I am 
bound to be in Brimley to take in stock. There ye 
two gents can take the cars fer wherever ye want to 
go. And if ye choose to give me the job of raisin’ yer 
boat and sendin’ it to its owners, I’ll do it for ye as 
soon as I can fix things suitable, and will charge ye 
just half-price fer the job, considerin’ that nuther 
of us had our lights out, and we ought to share 
damages.” 

I agreed to the proposed disposition of our boat, 
and asked Captain Jabe if I could not hire him to 
take us direct to Brimley. 

“No, sir ! ” he answered. “I never pass by my cus- 
tomers, especially Widder Kinley, fer she is the far- 
thest off of any of them.” 

“And she must be lookin’ out sharp for us, too,” 
said Abner, “for she bakes Thursdays, and she ought 
to sot her bread last night.” 

“And I am a great deal afeared,” continued Captain 
Jabe, “that her yeast-cakes won’t be any too fresh 
when she gits ’em, and the quicker that boat’s down 
to the bottom and our anchor up off the bottom, the 
173 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

better it will be for the Widder Kinley’s batch of 
bread.” 

In the course of half an hour an empty oil-keg was 
moored over the spot where our boat lay upon the 
sandy bar, and we were sailing as fast as such an un- 
wieldy vessel, with her mainsail permanently reefed 
above the roof of her grocery store, could be expected 
to sail. Our tacks were long and numerous, and al- 
though Walkirk and I lent a hand whenever there 
was occasion for it, and although there was a fair 
wind, the distant point rose but slowly upon our 
horizon. 

“I hope,” I remarked to Captain Jabe, “that the 
Widow Kinley will buy a good bill of you, after you 
have taken all this trouble to get to her.” 

“Dunno,” said he. “She don’t generally take more 
than she has ordered the week before, and all she has 
ordered this time is two yeast-cakes.” 

“Do you mean,” exclaimed Walkirk, “that you are 
taking all this time and trouble to deliver two yeast- 
cakes— worth, I suppose, four cents'?” 

“That’s the price on ’em,” said the captain. “But if 
the Widder Kinley didn’t git ’em she wouldn’t do no 
bakin’ this week, and that would upset her house- 
keeping keel up.” 

Late in the afternoon, we delivered the yeast-cakes 
to the Widow Kinley, whom we found in a state of 
nervous agitation, having begun to fear that another 
night would pass without her bread being “sot.” 
Then we coasted along the shore, tying up at various 
little piers, where the small farmers’ and fishermen’s 
families came on board to make purchases. 

Now Abner was in his glory. Wearing a long 
174 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


apron made of blue-and-white bed-ticking, be stood 
behind the counter in the little house on deck, and 
appeared to be much more at ease weighing sugar, 
coffee, and flour, than in assisting to weigh anchor. I 
seated myself in the corner of this floating grocery, 
crowded, shelves, floor, and counter, with such goods 
as might be expected to be found at an ordinary 
country store. 

It seemed to me that nearly every one who lived 
near the points at which we touched came on board 
the floating grocery, but most of them came to talk, 
and not to buy. Many of those who did make pur- 
chases brought farm produce or fish with which to 
“trade.” It was an interesting spectacle, and amused 
me. During our slow progress from one place to an- 
other, Captain Jabe told me of an old woman who 
once offered him an egg, which she wished to take out 
in groceries, half in tea and half in snuff. 

“We don’t often do business down as fine as that,” 
said the captain, “but then, on the other hand, we 
don’t calkerlate to supply hotels, and couldn’t if we 
wanted to.” 

Walkirk appeared uneasy at the detentions which 
still awaited us. 

“Couldn’t you take us straight on to Brimley,” he 
asked of the captain, “and sail back to your home in 
the morning ? ” 

“No, sir ! ” answered Captain Jabe, with much de- 
cision. “My old woman ’spects me to-night— in p’int 
of fact, she ’spected me a good deal before night,— and 
I am not goin’ to have her thinkin’ I am run down in 
a fog, and am now engaged in feedin’ the sharks. 
There is to be a quiltin’ -party at our house to-morrer 
175 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


arternoon, and there’s a lot to be done to git ready 
fer it. Abner and me will have to set np pretty late 
this night, I can tell yer ! ” 

“Is there no way of getting to the railroad/’ I 
asked, “but by your boat?” 

“No,” said Captain Jabe, “I can’t see that there is. 
Pretty nigh all the folks that will be at the bee to- 
morrer will come in boats. None of them live nigh 
to a railroad station, and, if they did, and could take 
ye back with ’em, they wouldn’t leave early enough 
for ye to ketch the last train. So the best thing ye can 
do is to stick by me, and I’ll guarantee to git ye over 
to Brimley in time for the mornin’ train on Saturday.” 


176 


CHAPTER XXIX 


FANTASY ? 

We reached Captain Jabe’s house a little after nightfall, 
and received a hearty welcome and a good supper from 
his wife. Walkirk and I slept on board the floating 
grocery, as also did Abner— that is to say, if he slept 
at all, for he and the captain were busy at the house 
when we retired. The quilting-party, we were in- 
formed, was expected to be a grand affair, provided, 
of course, there were no signs of rain, for country 
people are not expected to venture out for pleasure 
in rainy weather. 

Captain Jabe’s house, as we saw it the next morning, 
was a good-sized waterside farm-house, wide -spreading 
and low-roofed. The place had a sort of amphibious 
appearance, as if depending for its maintenance 
equally upon the land and the water. The house 
stood a little distance back from the narrow beach. 
In its front yard a net was hung to dry and to be 
mended. A small boat in course of repair lay upon 
some rude stocks, while bits of chain, an old anchor, 
several broken oars, and other nautical accessories 
were scattered here and there. 

At the back of the house, however, there was noth- 
177 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


ing about the barn, the cow-yard, the chicken-yard, 
and the haystacks to indicate that Captain Jabe was 
anything more than a thrifty small farmer. But, 
farmer and sailor as he was, Captain Jabe was none 
the less a grocer, and I think to this avocation he 
gave his chief attention. 

He took me into a small room by the side of his 
kitchen, and showed me what he called his “ sinking- 
fund stock.” 

“Here, ye see,” said he, “is canned fruit and wege- 
tables, smoked and salted meat and fish, cheeses, bis- 
cuits, and a lot of other things that will keep. None 
of these is this year’s goods. Some of them have been 
left over from last year, some from the year before 
that, and some is still older. Whenever I git a little 
short, I put a lot of these goods on board and sell ’em 
with the discount off— twenty per cent, for last year’s 
stock, forty per cent, off for the year before that, and 
so on back. So, ye see, if I have got anything on hand 
that is five years old, I am bound to give it away for 
nothin’, if I stick to my principles. At fust me and 
my old woman tried eatin’ what was left over, but 
discount isn’t no good to her, and she wants the best 
victuals that is goin’. Did ye ever think, sir, what 
this world would be without canned victuals?” 

I assured him that I never had, but would try to 
do so, if possible. 

The day proved to be a very fine one, and early in 
the afternoon the people invited to the quilting-party 
began to arrive, and by two o’clock the affair was in 
full swing. The quilting-frame was set up in a large 
chamber at the right of the parlor, the “comfortable ” 
to be quilted was stretched upon it, and at the four 
178 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


sides sat as many matrons and elderly maidens as 
could crowd together, each with needle in hand. Long 
cords rubbed with chalk were snapped upon the sur- 
face of the quilt to mark out the lines to be stitched, 
wax, thread, and scissors were passed from one to an- 
other, and every woman began to sew and to talk as 
fast as she could. 

I stood, in the doorway and watched this scene with 
considerable interest, for I had never before seen any- 
thing of the kind. The quilting ladies, to every one 
of whom I had been presented, cordially invited me 
to enter and take a seat with them, some of the more 
facetious offering to vacate their places in my favor, 
and, more than that, to show me how to thread and 
use a needle. I found, from their remarks, that it was 
rather an unusual thing for a man to take an interest 
in this part of the proceedings at a quilting-party. 

After a time I went into the parlor, which room 
was then occupied by the young men and young 
women. It was ever so much pleasanter out of doors 
than in this somewhat gloomy and decidedly stuffy 
parlor, but as these people were guests at a quilting- 
party, they knew it was proper to enjoy themselves 
within the house to which they had been invited. 

The young folks were not nearly so lively and ani- 
mated as their elders in the next room, but they had 
just begun to play a game which could be played in 
the house, and in which every one could participate, 
and as the afternoon wore on, they would doubtless 
become warmed up. Walkirk was making the best 
of it, and had entered the game, but I declined all 
invitations to do so. 

Before long there was some laughing and a good 
179 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


deal of romping, and I fancied that the girls, some of 
whom were not at all bad-looking, would have been 
pleased if I had joined in the sport. But this did not 
suit me. I still was, as I had declared myself, a Lover 
in Check, and the society of young women was not 
attractive to me. 

I went outside, where a group of elderly men were 
discussing the tax rates, and, after remaining a few 
minutes with them, I came to the conclusion that the 
pleasantest thing I could do would be to take a stroll 
over the country. 

I made my way over some rolling meadow-land, 
where three or four of Captain Jabe’s cows were care- 
fully selecting the edible portions of the herbage, and, 
having passed the crest of a rounded hill, I found 
myself on the edge of a piece of woodland, which 
seemed to be of considerable extent. This suited my 
mood exactly, and I was soon following the curves 
and bends of a rude roadway, in places almost over- 
grown by vines and bushes, which led me deeper and 
deeper into the shadowed recesses of the woods. It 
was now about four o’clock in the afternoon. The 
sun was still well up, and out in the open the day was 
warm for an up-and-down-hill stroll, but here in the 
woods it was cool and quiet, and the air was full of the 
pleasant summer smells that come from the trees, 
the leaves, and the very earth of the woods. 

It was not long before I came upon a stream of a 
character that somewhat surprised me. It was not 
very wide, for at this spot the trees met above it, 
darkening its waters with their quivering shadows, 
but it was evidently deep, much deeper than the 
woodland streams of its size to which I had been 


180 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


accustomed. I would have liked to cross it and con- 
tinue my walk, but I saw no way of getting over. 
With a broken branch, I sounded the water near the 
shore, and found it over two feet deep, and as it was 
no doubt deeper toward the middle, I gave up the 
idea of reaching the other side. But as I had no par- 
ticular reason for getting over, especially as I should 
be obliged to get back again, I contented myself easily 
with my present situation, and, taking a seat on the 
upheaved root of a large tree, I lighted a cigar, and 
gave myself up to the delights of this charming soli- 
tude. I was glad to be away from everybody, even 
from Walkirk, the companion I had chosen for my 
summer journey. 

There were insects gently buzzing in the soft sum- 
mer air ,* on the other side of the stream, in a spot 
unshadowed by the trees, the water was sparkling in 
the sunlight, and every little puff of the fitful breeze 
brought to me the smell of wild grapes, from vines 
which hung from the trees so low that they almost 
touched the water. It was very still in these woods. 
I heard nothing but the gently rustling leaves, the 
faint buzzing in the air, and an occasional tiny splash 
made by some small fish skimming near the surface of 
the stream. When I sat down on the root of the tree, 
I intended to think, reflect, make plans, determine 
what I should do next. But I did nothing of the sort. 
I simply sat and drank in the loveliness of this 
woodland scene. 

The stream curved away from me on each hand, 
and the short stretch of it which I could see to the 
left seemed to come out of the very heart of the 
woods. Suddenly I heard in this direction a faint, 
181 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


regular sound in the water, as if some animal were 
swimming. I could not see anything, but, as the 
sounds grew stronger, I knew that it must be ap- 
proaching. I did not know much of the aquatic ani- 
mals in this reigon. Perhaps it might be an otter, a 
muskrat— I knew not what. But whatever it was, I 
wanted to see it, and, putting down my cigar, I slipped 
softly behind the tree at whose foot I had been sitting. 

Now the swimming object was in view, coming 
rapidly toward me down the middle of the stream. 
There was but little of it above the water, and the 
shadows were so heavy that I could see nothing but a 
dark point, with a bright ripple glancing away from 
it on either side. Nearer and nearer it came into the 
better lighted portion of the stream. It was not a 
small animal. The ripples it made were strong, and 
ran out in long lines. Its strokes were vigorous. The 
head that I saw grew larger and larger. Steadily it 
came on. It reached the spot in the clear light of the 
sun. It was the head of a human swimmer. On 
the side nearest me, I could see, under the water, 
the strokes of a dark-clad arm. Above the water 
was only a face, turned toward me and upward. A 
mass of long hair swept away from it, and its blue eyes 
gazed dreamily into the tree-tops. For a moment the 
sunbeams touched its features. My heart stopped 
beating— it was the face of Sylvia. 

Another stroke and it had passed into the shadow. 
The silvery ripples came from it to me, losing them- 
selves against the shore. It passed on and on, away 
from me. I made one step from behind the tree, then 
suddenly stopped. On went the head and upturned 
face, touched once more by a gleam of light, and then 
182 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


it disappeared around a little bluff crowned wit h a 
mass of shrubbery and vines. I listened, breathless. 
The sounds of the strokes died away. All was still 
again. 

For some minutes I stood, bewildered, dazed, doubt- 
ing whether I had been awake or dreaming. My 
mind could not grasp what had happened— even my 
imagination could not help me. But one thing I 
knew : whether this had all been real, or whether it 
had been a dream, I had seen the face of Sylvia. 
This I knew as I knew I lived. 

Slowly I came away, scarcely knowing how I walked, 
or where I emerged from the woods, and crossed the 
open country to the house of Captain Jabe. 


183 


CHAPTER XXX 


A DISCOVERY 

I found the quilting-party at supper. I could see 
them through the open windows of the large living- 
room, and I heard their chatter and laughing when 
I was still a considerable distance from the house. 
With my mind quivering with the emotions excited 
by what had happened in the woods, it was impossible 
for me to join a party like this. I walked around the 
barn and into a little orchard, where between two 
gnarled apple-trees there hung an old hammock, into 
which I threw myself. 

There I lay, piling conjecture and supposition high 
upon each other, but not at all could I conjecture how 
it was that the face which I had last seen in my own 
home, under the gray bonnet of a sister of Martha, 
should flash upon my vision in this far-away spot, and 
from the surface of a woodland stream. 

It was growing dusky, when I heard a loud whistle, 
and my name was called. I whistled in return, and 
in a few moments Walkirk came running to me. 

“I was beginning to get frightened,” he said. “I 
have been looking everywhere for you. We have 
had supper, and the party is breaking up. There is 
184 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


no moon to-night, and the people must start early for 
their homes.” 

“Let them all get away,” I replied, “and when they 
are entirely out of sight and hearing, let me know, and 
I’ll go in to supper.” 

“I am afraid,” said Walkirk, hesitating, “that they 
will not like that. You know these country people 
are very particular about leave-taking, and all that 
sort of thing.” 

“I can’t help it,” I answered. “I don’t feel at all 
like seeing people at present. You can go and bid 
them good-by in my name.” 

“As an understudy?” said he, smiling. “Well, if 
I can tell them you are out of condition, and not feel- 
ing like yourself, that will make it all right, and will 
also explain why you kept yourself away all the after- 
noon.” With this he left me, promising to return 
when the guests had departed. It was a long time 
before he came back, and it was then really dark. 

“Your supper is awaiting you,” he announced, “and 
I am afraid that Mrs. Jabe is contemplating a hot 
foot-bath and some sort of herb-tea, and we ought to 
turn in pretty early to-night, for Captain Jabe has 
announced that he will sail between four and five 
o’clock in the morning.” 

“Walkirk,” said I, sitting up in the hammock, “I 
have no intention of sailing to-morrow. I prefer to 
stay here for a time— I don’t know for how long.” 

“Stay here ! ” exclaimed Walkirk. “ What on earth 
can you do here? What possible attraction can this 
place have ? ” 

“My good Walkirk,” I said, rising and walking 
toward the house, “I am here, and here I want to stay. 

185 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Reasons are the most awkward things in the world. 
They seldom fit. Let us drop them. Perhaps, if Cap- 
tain and Mrs. Jabe think I did not treat their com- 
pany with proper courtesy, they may feel that I am 
making amends by desiring to stay with them. Any- 
way, I am going to stay.” 

Captain Jabe and his wife were very much sur- 
prised when I announced my intention of remaining 
at their place for a day or two longer, but as I had 
surmised they were also flattered. 

a This is a quiet place,” said the captain, “but, as ye 
ain’t very well, and seem to like to keep to yerself, I 
don’t see why it shouldn’t suit ye. There’s plenty o’ 
good air, and fishin’ if ye want it, and we can accom- 
modate ye and give ye plenty to eat. I shall be back 
to-morrer night, and expect to stay home over Sun- 
day myself.” 

Walkirk was very much dissatisfied, and made a 
strong attempt to turn me from my purpose. “If you 
intend to do anything in regard to Miss Raynor,” he 
said, “I really think you ought to get home as soon as 
you can. Mother Anastasia is now having every- 
thing her own way, you know.” 

“Walkirk,” said I, “you blow hot and cold. If it 
had not been for you, I should be home this minute. 
But you dissuaded me from a hot chase after Mother 
Anastasia, and now my ardor for the chase has cooled, 
and I am. quite inclined to let that sport wait.” 

Walkirk looked at me inquiringly. It was evident 
that he did not understand my mood. 

The next morning I found myself in a quandary. 
I had determined to make a long tramp inland, and 
if necessary to ford or swim streams, and I could not 
186 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


determine whether or not it would be wise to take 
Walkirk with me. I concluded at last to take him. 
It would be awkward to leave him behind, and he 
might be of use. We provided ourselves with fishing- 
rods and -tackle and two pairs of wading-boots, as well 
as with a luncheon-basket, well filled by Mrs. Jabe, 
and started on our expedition. I felt in remarkably 
good spirits. 

I had formed no acceptable hypothesis in regard to 
what I had seen the day before, but I was going to do 
something better than that : I was going to find out if 
what had occurred could possibly be real and actual. 1 
If I should be convinced that this was impossible, 
then I intended to accept the whole affair as a dream 
which had taken place during an unconscious nap. 

When we reached the woodland stream, Walkirk 
gazed about him with satisfaction. “This looks like 
sport,” he said. “I see no reason why there should 
not be good fishing in this creek. I did not suppose 
we should find such pleasant woods and so fine a stream 
in Captain Jabe’s neighborhood.” 

“You must know,” said I, “that I have a talent for 
exploration and discovery. Had it not been for this 
stream, I should not have thought of such a thing as 
allowing Captain Jabe and Abner to sail off by them- 
selves this morning.” 

“Really,” replied Walkirk, “you care much more 
for angling than I supposed.” 

Truly I cared very little for angling, but I had dis- 
covered that Walkirk was an indefatigable and patient 
fisherman. I had intended that he should cross the 
stream with me, but it now occurred to me that it 
would be far better to let him stay on this side, while 
187 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I pursued my researches alone. Accordingly, I pro- 
posed that he should fish in the part of the stream 
which I had seen the day before, while I pressed on 
farther. “In this way / 7 I remarked artfully, “we 
shall not interfere with each other . 77 

Had I supposed there was the slightest possibility 
of the appearance on the stream of the apparition of 
the day before, I should have requested Walkirk to 
fish from the top of a distant tree. But I had no fears 
on this score. If what I had seen had been a phantasm, 
my understudy would have to doze to see it, and I knew 
he would not do that. And if what I had seen was real, 
it would not appear this morning, for the water was 
too low for swimming. The creek, as I now perceived, 
was affected by the tide, and its depth was very much 
less than on the preceding afternoon. 

I turned to the right, and followed the stream for 
some distance, now walking by its edge, and now 
obliged, by masses of undergrowth, to make a detour 
into the woods. At last, I came to a spot where the 
stream, although wide, appeared shallow. In fact, 
even in the center I could see the stones at the 
bottom. I, therefore, put on my wading-boots, and 
boldly crossed. The woods here were mostly of pine, 
free from undergrowth, and with the ground softened 
to the foot by a thick layer of pine-needles. 

Now that I was on the other side of the creek, I de- 
sired to make my way out of the woods, which could 
not, I imagined, be very extensive. To discover a real 
basis for yesterday 7 s vision, I believed that it would 
be necessary to reach open country. Leaving the 
stream behind me, it was not long before I came to a 
rude pathway, and although this seemed to follow the 
188 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


general direction of the creek, I determined to turn 
aside from the course I was taking and follow it. 
After walking for nearly a mile, sometimes seeing the 
waters of the stream, and sometimes entirely losing 
sight of them, I found the path making an abrupt 
turn, and in a few minutes was out of the woods. 

The country before me was very much like that 
about Captain Jabe’s residence. There were low, 
rolling hills, covered with coarse grass and ragged 
shrubbery, with here and there a cluster of trees. 
Not a sign of human habitation was in sight. Beach- 
ing the top of a small hill, I saw at my right, and not 
very far before me, a wide expanse of water. This I 
concluded must be the bay, although I had not ex- 
pected to see it in this direction. 

I went down the hill toward the shore. “If what I 
seek is in reality / 7 I said to myself, “it will naturally 
love to live somewhere near the water . 77 Near the 
beach I struck a path again, and this I followed, my 
mind greatly agitated by the thoughts of what I might 
discover, as well as by the fear that I might discover 
nothing. 

After a walk of perhaps a quarter of an hour, I 
stopped suddenly. I had discovered something. I 
looked about me, utterly amazed. I was on the little 
beach which the Sand Lady had assigned to Walkirk 
and me as a camping-ground ! 

I sat down, vainly endeavoring to comprehend the 
situation. Out of the mass of wild suppositions and 
conjectures which crowded themselves into my mind 
there came but one conviction, and with that I was 
satisfied : Sylvia was here. 

It mattered not that the Sand Lady had said that 
189 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


hers was the only house upon the island. It mattered 
not that Captain Jabe had said nothing of his neigh- 
bor. In truth, nothing mattered. One sister of the 
House of Martha had come to this place. Why not 
another? What I had seen in the woods had been 
no fantasy. Sylvia was here. 


190 


CHAPTER XXXI 

TAKING UP UNFINISHED WORK 

My reasons for believing that Sylvia was on this island 
were circumstantial, it is true, but to me they were en- 
tirely conclusive, and the vehement desire of my soul 
was to hasten to the house and ask to see her. But I 
did not feel at all sure that this would be the right 
thing to do. The circumstances of this case were un- 
usual. Sylvia was a sister of a religious house. It 
was not customary for gentlemen to call upon such 
sisters, and the lady who was the temporary custodian 
of this one might resent such an attempt. 

It was, however, impossible for me entirely to re- 
strain my impulses, and without knowing exactly 
what I intended to do I advanced toward the house. 
Very soon I saw its chimneys above the trees which 
partly surrounded it. Then, keeping under cover of 
a thicket, I went still nearer, so that if there had 
been any people in the surrounding grounds I could 
have seen them. But I saw no one, and I sat down on 
a log and waited. It shamed me to think that I was 
secretly watching a house, but despite the shame I 
continued to sit and watch. 

There was the flutter of drapery on a little porch. 
My heart beat quickly, my eyes fixed upon the spot. 

191 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


But nothing appeared except a maid who brought 
out some towels, which she hung on a bush to dry. 
Then again I watched and watched. 

After a time four people came out from the house, 
two of them carrying colored parasols. I knew them 
instantly. There was the Middle-Aged Man of the 
Sea, and his friend the Shell Man, and there was the 
Sand Lady, and my enemy who called herself a Per- 
son. They went off toward the little pier. Sylvia 
was not with them, nor did she join them. They en- 
tered their boat and sailed away. They were going 
fishing, as was their custom. The fact that Sylvia 
was not with them, and that no one of them had 
stayed behind to keep her company, caused my heart 
to fall. In cases like mine, it takes very little to 
make the heart fall. The thought forced itself into 
my mind that perhaps, after all, I had seen a vision, 
and had been building theories on dreams. 

Suddenly the shutter of an upper window opened, 
and I saw Sylvia ! 

It was truly Sylvia. She was dressed in white, not 
gray. Her hair was massed upon her head. There 
was no gray bonnet. She looked up at the sky, then 
at the trees, and withdrew. 

My heart was beating as fast as it pleased. My face 
was glowing, and shame had been annihilated. I sat 
and watched. Presently a door opened, and Sylvia 
came out. 

Now I rose to my feet. I must go to her. It might 
not be honorable to take her at this disadvantage, but 
there are moments when even honor must wait for a 
decision upon its case. However, there was no neces- 
sity for my going to Sylvia : she was coming to me. 

192 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


As she walked directly to the spot where I stood, 
I saw Sylvia as I had seen her in my day-dreams— a 
beautiful girl, dressed as a beautiful girl should dress 
in summer-time. In one hand she carried a port- 
folio, in the other a little leather case. As she came 
nearer, I saw that she was attired exactly as Mother 
Anastasia had been dressed when I met her here. 
Nearer she came, but still she did not see me. I was 
not now concealed, but her eyes seemed fixed upon 
the path in which she was walking. 

When she was within a hundred feet of the thicket 
through which her path would lead, I advanced to 
meet her. I tried to appear cool and composed, but 
I am afraid my success was slight. As for Sylvia, she 
stopped abruptly, and dropped her leather case. I 
think that at first she did not recognize me, and was 
on the point of screaming. To suddenly come upon a 
man in the midst of these solitudes was indeed start- 
ling. 

Quickly, however, I made myself known, and her 
expression of fright changed to one of amazement. I 
am happy to say she took the hand I offered her, 
though she seemed to have no words with which to re- 
turn my formal greeting. In cases like this, the one 
who amazes should not impose upon the amazed one 
the necessity of asking questions, but should begin 
immediately to explain the situation. 

This I did. I told Sylvia how I had been acci- 
dentally brought to Captain Jabe’s house, how I had 
strolled off in this direction, and how delighted I was 
to meet her here. In all this I was careful not to 
intimate that I had suspected her presence in this 
region. While speaking, I tried hard to think what 
193 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I should say when she should remark, “Then you did 
not know I was here?” But she did not make this 
remark. She looked at me with a little puzzled 
wrinkle on her brow, and said, with a smile : 

“It is absolutely wonderful that you should be 
here, and I should not know it, and that I should be 
here, and you should not know it.” 

Ever since my meeting with Mother Anastasia, it 
had been my purpose, as soon as I could find or make 
an opportunity, to declare to Sylvia my love for her. 
Apart from my passionate yearning in this direction, 
I felt that what I had done and attempted to say 
when I had parted from my secretary made it obliga- 
tory on me, as a man of honor, to say more, the mo- 
ment I should be able to do so. 

Now the opportunity had come, now we were alone 
together, and I was able to pour out before her the 
burning words which so often, in my hours of revery, 
had crowded themselves upon my mind. The fates 
had favored me as I had had no reason to expect to 
be favored. But I took no advantage of this situation. 
I spoke no word of love. I cannot say that Sylvia’s 
demeanor cooled my affection, but I can say that it 
cooled my desire for instantaneous expression of it. 
After her first moments of astonishment, her mind 
seemed entirely occupied with the practical unravel- 
ling of the problem of our meeting. I endeavored to 
make this appear a very commonplace affair. It 
was quite natural that my companion and I should 
come together to a region which he had before 
visited. 

“Yes,” said she. “I suppose all out-of-the-way 
things can be made commonplace, if one reasons long 
194 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


enough. As for me, of course it is quite natural that, 
needing a change from the House of Martha, I should 
come to my mother’s island.” 

“ Your mother ! ” I stammered. 

“Yes,” she answered. “Mrs. Raynor, who spends 
her summers in that house over there, is my mother. 
Her brother is here, too, and she has some friends 
with her. Mother Anastasia was away recently on a 
little jaunt, and, when she came back, she said that I 
looked tired and wan, and that I ought to go to my 
mother’s for a fortnight. So I came. That was all 
simple enough, you see.” 

Simple enough ! Could anything be more extraor- 
dinary, more enigmatical? I did not know what to 
say, what course to pursue, but, in the midst of my 
surprise, I had sense enough to see that, until I knew 
more, the less I said, the better. Sylvia did not 
know that I had visited her mother’s island and her 
mother’s house. It was possible she did not know 
that Mother Anastasia had been here. I must decide 
whether or not I would enlighten her on these points. 
My disposition was to be perfectly open and frank 
with her, and to be thus, I must enlighten her. But 
I waited, and, in answer to her statement, merely told 
her how glad I was that she had a vacation, and such 
a delightful place to come to. She did not immediately 
reply, but stood looking past me over the little vale 
beyond us. 

“Well, here I am,” she said, presently, “and in a 
very different dress from that in which you used to see 
me, but for all that, I am still a sister of the House of 
Martha, and so—” 

“So what?” I interrupted. 

195 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I suppose I should go back to the house,” she 
answered. 

Now I began to warm up furiously. 

“ Don’t think of it ! ” I exclaimed. “Now that I 
have met you, give me a few moments of your time. 
Let me see you as you are, free and undisguised, like 
other women, and not behind bars, or in charge of old 
Sister Sarah.” 

“Wasn’t she horrid?” said Sylvia. 

“Indeed she was,” I replied. “And now, cannot you 
walk a little with me, or shall we sit down somewhere 
and have a talk ? ” 

She shook her head. “Even if mother and the rest 
had not gone away in the boat, I could not do that, you 
know.” 

If she persisted in her determination to leave me, 
she should know my love in two minutes. But I tried 
further persuasion. 

“We have spent hours together,” I said. “Why not 
let me make you a little visit now ? ” 

Still she gently shook her head, and looked away. 
Suddenly she turned her face toward me. Her blue 
eyes sparkled, her lips parted, and there was a flush 
upon her temples. 

“There is one thing I would dearly like,” she said, 
“and I think I could stay for that. Will you finish 
the story of Tomaso and Lucilla? ” 

“I shall be overjoyed to do it ! ” I cried, in a state 
of exultation. “Come, let us sit over there in the 
shade, at the bottom of this hill, and I will tell you 
all the rest of that story.” 

Together we went down the little slope. 

196 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“You can’t imagine,” she said, “how I have longed 
to know how all that turned out. Over and over 
again I have finished the story for myself, but I never 
made a good ending to it. It was not a bit like hear- 
ing it from you.” 

I found her a seat on a low stone near the trunk of 
a tree, and I sat upon the ground near by, while my 
soul bounded up like a loosened balloon. 

“Happy thought ! ” she exclaimed. “I came out 
here to write letters, not caring for fishing, especially 
in boats. How would you like me to write the rest of 
the story from your dictation % ” 

Like it ! I could scarcely find words to tell her 
how I should like it. 

“Very well, then,” said she, opening her portfolio 
and taking out some sheets of paper. “My inkstand 
is in that case you picked up. Please give it to me, 
and let us begin. Now, this is a very different affair. 
I am finishing the work which the House of Martha 
set me to do, and I assure you I have been very much 
dissatisfied because I have been obliged to leave it 
unfinished. Please begin.” 

“I cannot remember at this moment,” I said, 
“where we left off.” 

“I can tell you exactly,” she answered, “just as well 
as if I had the manuscript before me. Tomaso held 
Lucilla by the hand. The cart was ready in which he 
was to travel to the sea-coast. They were calling him 
to hurry, and he was trying to look into her face, to 
see if he should tell her something that was in his 
heart. You had not yet said what it was that was in 
his heart. There was a chance, you know, that it 
197 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


might be that he felt it necessary for her good that 
the match should be broken off.” 

“How did you arrange this in the endings you 
made ? ” I asked. “Did you break off the match ? ” 
“Don’t let us bother about my endings,” she said. 
“I want to know yours.” 


198 


CHAPTER XXXII 


TOMASO AND LUCILLA 

On this happy morning, sitting in the shade with 
Sylvia, I should have much preferred to talk to her 
of herself and of myself than to dictate the story of 
the Sicilian lovers. But, if I would keep her with me, 
I must humor her, at least for a time, and so, as well 
as I could, I began my story. 

The situation was, however, delightful. It was 
charming to sit and look at Sylvia, her portfolio in 
her lap, pen in hand, and her blue eyes turned toward 
me, anxiously waiting for me to speak. It was so en- 
chanting that my mind could with difficulty be kept 
to the work in hand. But it would not do to keep 
Sylvia waiting. Her pen began to tap impatiently 
upon the paper, and I went on. We had written a 
page or two, when she interrupted me. 

“It seems to me,” she said, “that if Tomaso really 
starts for Xaples it will be a good while before we get 
to the end of the story. So far as I am concerned, 
you know, I would like the story just as long as you 
choose to make it, but we haven’t very much time, 
and it would be a dreadful disappointment to me if I 
should have to go away before the story is ended.” 

“Why do you feel in a hurry?” I asked. “If we 
199 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


do not finish this morning, cannot I come to you to- 
morrow ? ” 

“Oh, no, indeed,” she answered. “It’s only by the 
merest chance, you know, that I am writing for you 
this morning, and I couldn’t do it again. That would 
be impossible. In fact, I want to get through before 
the boat comes back. Not that I should mind mother, 
for she knows I used to write for you, and I could 
easily explain how I came to be doing it now, and I 
should not care about uncle or Mr. Heming. But as 
for Miss Laniston,— that is the lady who is visiting us, 
—I would not have her see me doing this for anything 
in the world. She hates the House of Martha, al- 
though she used to be one of its friends, and I know 
that she would like to see me leave the sisterhood. 
She ridicules us whenever she has a chance, and to see 
me here would be simply nuts to her.” 

“Is she a bad-tempered lady?” I asked. “Do you 
know her very well ? Could you trust her in regard 
to anything important?” 

“Oh, I know her well enough,” said Sylvia. “She 
has always been a friend of the family. She is won- 
derfully well educated, and knows everything, and 
has never married, and travels all about by herself, 
and is just as independent as she can be. She has 
very strong opinions about things, and doesn’t hesitate 
to tell you them, no matter whether she thinks you 
like it or not. I have no doubt she is perfectly trust- 
worthy and honorable, and all that, but if you knew 
her, I do not think you would like her, and you can 
easily see why I shouldn’t want her to see me doing 
this. It would give her a chance for no end of sneers 
at the work of the sisters.” 


200 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Has she never said anything about your acting as 
my amanuensis ? ” I asked. 

“Ho, indeed,” replied Sylvia. “You may be sure 
she never heard of that, or she would have made fun 
enough of it.” 

It was impossible for me to allow this dear girl to 
remain longer in ignorance of the true state of affairs. 

“Miss Raynor,” I said,— how I longed to say “Syl- 
via” !— “I am ashamed that I have allowed you to 
remain as long as this under a misunderstanding, but, 
in truth, I did not understand the case myself. I did 
not know that the lady of this house was your mother, 
but I have met her, and have been kindly entertained 
by her. I did not know Miss Laniston’s name, but I 
have also met her, and talked to her about you, and 
she knows you used to write for me, and I do not like 
her.” 

Sylvia answered not a word, but, as she sat and 
looked at me with wide-open eyes, I told her what 
had happened since my companion and I had landed 
at Racket Island. I omitted only my confidences to 
Mother Anastasia and Miss Laniston. 

“Mother Anastasia has been here,” repeated Sylvia, 
“and she never told me ! That surpasses all. And 
mother never mentioned that you had been here, nor 
did any one.” She gazed steadfastly upon the ground, 
a little pale, and presently she said, “I think I under- 
stand it, but it need not be discussed.” Then closing 
her portfolio, she rose to her feet. 

“Sylvia,” I exclaimed, springing up and stepping 
nearer to her, “it must be discussed ! Ever since I 
parted from you at the window of your writing-room, 
I have been yearning to speak to you. I do not 
201 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


understand the actions of your family and friends, but 
I do know that those actions were on your account 
and on mine. They know I love you. I have not 
in the least concealed the fact that I love you, and I 
hoped, Sylvia, that you knew it.” 

She stood, her closed portfolio in one hand, her pen 
in the other, her eyes downcast, and her face grave 
and quiet. “I cannot say,” she answered presently, 
“that I knew it, although sometimes I thought it was 
so, but other times I thought it was not so. I was 
almost sure of it when you took leave of me at the 
window, and tried to kiss my hand, and were just 
about to say something which I knew I ought not to 
stay to hear. It was when thinking about that morn- 
ing, in fact,— and I thought about it a great deal, 
—that I became convinced I must act very promptly 
and earnestly in regard to my future life, and be true 
to the work I had undertaken to do, and for this 
reason it was that I solemnly vowed to devote the 
rest of my life to the House of Martha, to observe all 
its rules and do its work.” 

“Sylvia,” I gasped, “you cannot keep this vow ! 
When you made it you did not know I loved you. 
It cannot hold. It must be set aside.” 

She looked at me for a moment, and then her eyes 
again fell. “Do not speak in that way,” she said. “It 
is not right. Of course, I was not sure you loved 
me, but I suspected it, and this was the very reason 
I took my vow.” 

“It is plain, then,” I exclaimed bitterly, “that you 
do not love me, otherwise you would never have done 
such a thing ! ” 

“Don’t you think,” said she, “that, considering the 
202 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


sisterhood to which I belong, we have already talked 
too much about that? ” 

If she had exhibited the least emotion, I think I 
should have burst out into supplications that she 
would take the advice of her Mother Superior, that 
she would listen to her friends, that she would do 
anything, in fact, which would cause her to recon- 
sider this step, which condemned me to misery, and 
her to a life for which she was totally unfitted— a 
career, in her case, of such sad misuse of every attri- 
bute of mind and body that it wrung my heart to 
think of it. But she stood so quiet, so determined, 
and with an air of such gentle firmness, that words 
seemed useless. In truth, they would not come to 
me. She opened her portfolio. 

“I will give you these sheets I have written,” 
she said. “By right they belong to you. I am sorry 
the story was interrupted, for I very much want to 
hear the end of it, and now I never shall.” 

I caught at a straw. “Sylvia,” I cried, “let us sit 
down and finish the story ! We can surely do that. 
Come, it is all ready in my mind. I will dictate 
rapidly.” 

She shook her head. “Hardly,” she answered, 
“after what has been said. Here are your pages.” 

I took the pages she handed me, because she had 
written them. 

“Sylvia,” I exclaimed, “I shall finish that story, 
and you shall hear it ! This I vow ! ” 

“I am going now,” she responded. “Good-by.” 

“Sylvia,” I cried, quickly stepping after her as she 
moved away, “will you not say more than that? 
Will you not even give me your hand? ” 

203 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I will do that / 7 she replied, stopping, “if yon will 
promise not to kiss it . 77 

I took her hand, and held it a few moments with- 
out a word. Then she gently withdrew it. 

“Good-by again , 77 she said. “I don’t want you to 
forget me, but, when you think of me, always think 
of me as a sister of the House of Martha . 77 

As I stood looking after her, she rapidly walked 
toward the house, and I groaned while thinking I had 
not told her that, if she ever thought of me, she must 
remember I loved her, and would love her to the end 
of my life. But, in a moment, I was glad I had not 
said this. After her words to me, it would have been 
unmanly, and, besides, I knew she knew it. 

When I lost sight of her in the grove by the house, 
I turned and picked up the pages of the story of 
Tomaso and Lucilla, which I had droj>ped. In doing 
so, I saw her inkstand, with its open case near by it, 
on the ground by the stone on which she had been 
sitting. I put the inkstand in its case, closed it, and 
stood for some minutes, holding it and thinking. But I 
did not carry it away with me as a memento. Draw- 
ing down a branch of the tree, I hung the little case 
securely by its handles to a twig, where it would be 
in full view of any one walking that way. 


204 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE DISTANT TOPSAIL 

I found Walkirk, still fishing, near the place where I 
had left him. 

“I was beginning to be surprised at your long 
absence,” he said, “and was thinking of going to look 
for you. Have you had good luck ? ” 

This was a hard question to answer. I smiled 
grimly. “I have not been fishing,” I answered. “I 
have been dictating my story to my nun.” 

The rod dropped from the relaxed fingers of my 
understudy, and he stood blankly staring at me, and 
waiting for an explanation. I gave it. 

Depressed as I was, I could not help feeling inter- 
ested in the variety of expressions which passed over 
Walkirk’s face as I related what had happened since 
I had seen him. When I told him how near we were 
to our old camp on the Sand Lady’s island, he was 
simply amazed. His astonishment, when he heard of 
the appearance of Sylvia on the scene, was almost 
overpowered by his amusement as I related how she 
and I had continued the story of Tomaso and Lucilla, 
in the shade of the tree. But when I informed him 
of Sylvia’s determination to devote her life to the 
205 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


work of the House of Martha, without regard to what 
I told her of my love, he was greatly moved, and, I 
am sure, sincerely grieved. 

“T his is too had, too bad,” he said. “I did not 
expect it.” 

“Miss Eaynor is young,” I answered, “but the 
strength and integrity of her soul are greater, and 
her devotion to what she believes her duty is stronger, 
than I supposed. Her character is marked by a 
simple sincerity and a noble dignity which I have 
never seen surpassed. I think she positively dis- 
likes the life of the sisterhood, but, having devoted 
herself to it, she will stand firmly by her resolutions 
and her promise, no matter what happens. As regards 
myself, I do not suppose that her knowledge of my 
existence has any influence on her, one way or the 
other. I may have interested and amused her, but 
that is all. If I had finished the Italian love-story I 
had been telling her, I think she would have been 
satisfied never to see me again.” 

Walkirk shook his head. “I do not believe that,” 
he said. “Her determination to rivet the bonds which 
hold her to her sisterhood shows that she was afraid 
of her interest in you, and if it gave her reason to 
fear, it gives you reason to hope.” 

“Put that in the past tense, please,” I replied. 
“Whatever it may have given, it gives nothing now. 
To hope would be absurd.” 

“Mr. Vanderley,” exclaimed Walkirk, “I would 
not give up in that way ! I am certain, from what I 
know, that Miss Raynor’s interest in you is plain not 
only to herself, but to her family and friends. And 
I tell you, sir, that sort of interest cannot be extin- 
206 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


guished by promises and resolutions. If I were you, 
I would keep up the fight. She is not yet a vowed 
sister.” 

“Walkirk,” said I, offering him my hand, “you are 
a good fellow, and although I cannot believe what 
you say, I thank you for saying it.” 

It was now long past noon, and we were both ready 
for the luncheon which we had brought with us. 
Walkirk opened the basket, and as he arranged its 
contents on the broad napkin, which he spread upon 
the grass, he ruminated. 

“I think,” he remarked, as we were eating, “that I 
begin to understand the situation. At first I could 
not reconcile the facts with the Sand Lady’s state- 
ment that no one lived on her island but her family, 
but now I see that this creek must make an island of 
her domain, and so it is that, although Captain Jabe 
is her neighbor, her statement is entirely correct.” 

Having finished our meal, I lighted my pipe and 
sat down under a tree, while Walkirk, with his rod, 
wandered away along the bank of the stream. After 
a while he returned, and proposed that we try fishing 
near the eastern outlet of the creek, where, as the 
tide was coming in, we might find better sport. 

“That will be a very good thing for you to do,” 
said I, “but I shall not fish. I am going to Mrs. 
Raynor’s house.” 

“Where?” exclaimed Walkirk. 

“I am going to speak to Mrs. Raynor,” I answered, 
“whom I have known only as the Sand Lady, but 
whom I must now know as Sylvia’s mother. I have 
determined to act boldly and openly in this matter. 
I have made suit to Mrs. Raynor’s daughter. I have 
207 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

told other people of the state of my affections, and I 
think I should lose no time, having now the oppor- 
tunity, in conferring with Mrs. Raynor herself.” 

Walkirk’s face was troubled. 

“You do not approve of that? ” I asked. 

“Since you ask me,” he answered, “I must say 
that I do not think it a wise thing to do. If I prop- 
erly understand Miss Raynor’s character, her mother 
knows that you are here, and if she is willing to have 
you visit her, under the circumstances, she will make 
a sign. In fact, I think that she will now make some 
sort of sign, by which you can see how the land lies. 
Perhaps Mrs. Raynor is on your side, but I am afraid 
that, if you should visit the house where Miss Raynor 
is, it would set her mother against you. I imagine 
she is a woman who would not like that sort of 
thing.” 

“Walkirk,” said I, “your reasoning is very good, 
but this is not a time to reason. It is a time to act, 
and I am going to see Mrs. Raynor this day.” 

“I hope it may all turn out well,” he replied, and 
walked away gravely. 

I did not start immediately for the Sand Lady’s 
house. For a long time, I sat and thought upon the 
subject of the approaching interview, planning and 
considering how I should plead my case, and what I 
should answer, and how I should overcome the diffi- 
culties which would probably be pointed out to me. 

At last, like many another man when in a similar 
predicament, I concluded to let circumstances shape 
my plan of action, and set forth for Mrs. Raynor’s 
house. The walk was a long one, but I turned in 
order to pass under the tree where I had begun to 
208 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


dictate to Sylvia. And glad I was that I did so, for to 
the twig on which I had hnng the case containing her 
inkstand there was now attached a half-sheet of note- 
paper. I ran to the tree, eagerly seized the paper, 
and read these few words that were written on it : 

“Thank you very much for taking such good care of 
my little case.” 

“Now, then,” said I to myself, proudly gazing at 
these lines, “this is only a small thing, hut the girl 
who would write it, and who would expect me to 
read it, must be interested in me. She believes that 
I would not fail to come here again— therefore, she 
believes in me. That is a great point.” 

For a moment, I felt tempted to write something in 
reply, and hang it on the tree-twig. But I refrained. 
What I would write to Sylvia must be read by no one 
but herself. That tree was in a very conspicuous posi- 
tion, and my tamest words to her must not hang upon 
it. I carefully folded the paper and put it in my 
pocket, and then, greatly encouraged, walked rapidly 
to the house. 

On the front piazza I found an elderly woman with 
a broom. She knew me, for she had frequently seen 
me during the time that I was encamped upon the 
island. She was now greatly surprised at my appear- 
ance on the scene. 

“Why, sir,” she exclaimed, without waiting for me 
to speak, “have you come back to your camp? It is 
too bad ! ” 

I did not like this salutation. But, making no 
answer to it, I asked quickly, “Can I see Mrs. Ray- 
nor?” 


209 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“No, indeed/’ said she. “They’ve gone, every one of 
them, and not an hour ago. What a pity they did 
not know you were here ! ” 

“Gone ! ” I cried. “Where ! ” 

“They’ve gone off in their yacht for a cruise,” re- 
turned the woman. “The vessel has been at Brimley 
for more than a week, being repaired, and she got 
back this morning. And as she was all ready to sail, 
they just made up their minds that they’d go off in 
her, for one of their little voyages they are so fond of, 
and off they went, in less than two hours.” 

“How long do they expect to be gone!” I asked. 

“Mrs. Raynor told me they would be away probably 
for a week or two,” the woman answered, “and she 
would stop somewhere and telegraph to me when she 
was coming back. Of course, there isn’t any telegraph 
to this island, but when messages come to Brimley, 
they send them over in a boat.” 

Having determined to speak to Mrs. Raynor, and 
having set out to do so, this undertaking appeared to 
me the most important thing in the world, and one in 
which I must press forward, without regard to obsta- 
cles of any kind. 

“Are they going to any particular place ! ” I said. 
“Are they going to stop anywhere!” 

“There is only one place that I know of,” she an- 
swered, “and that’s Sanpritchit, over on the mainland. 
They expect to stop there to get provisions for the 
cruise, for there was but little here that they could 
take with them. They wanted to get there before 
dark, and I don’t doubt but that, with this wind, 
they’ll do it. If you’ll step to this end of the piazza, 
sir, perhaps you can see their topsail. I saw it just 
210 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


before yon came, as they were beginning to make the 
long tack.” 

“Yes, there it is,” she continued, when we reached 
the place referred to, from which a vast stretch of the 
bay could be seen, “but not so much of it as I saw just 
now.” 

“Their topsail ! ” I ejaculated. 

“Yes, sir,” she said. “You can’t see their mainsail, 
because they are so far away, and it’s behind the 
water, in a manner.” 

I stood silent for a few minutes, gazing at the little 
ship. Suddenly a thought struck me. “Do you think 
they will sail on Sunday ? ” I asked. 

“No, sir,” she replied. “Mrs. Raynor never sails 
on Sunday. And that’s why I wondered, after they’d 
gone, why they’d started off on a Saturday. They 
will have to lay up at Sanpritchit all day to-morrow, 
and it seems to me it would have been a great deal 
pleasanter for them to stay here Sunday, and to 
have started on Monday. There’s no church at San- 
pritchit, or anything for them to do, so far as I know, 
unless Miss Raynor reads sermons to them, which she 
never did here— though she’s a religious sister, which 
perhaps you didn’t know, sir.” 

“Sanpritchit over Sunday,” I repeated to myself. 

“It’s the greatest pity,” said the woman, “that they 
didn’t know you and the other gentleman — that is, if 
he is with you — were coming back to-day, for I am 
sure they would have been glad to take you with 
them. There’s room enough on that yacht, and will 
be more, for Mr. Heming, the gentleman that collects 
shells, is not coming back with them. They are to 
put him off somewhere, and he is going home. I 
211 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


have an idea, though I wasn’t told so, that Miss Ray- 
nor is not coming back with the rest. She brought 
very little baggage with her, but she took a lot of 
things on board the yacht, and that looks as if she 
wasn’t coming back. But, bless me, they went off in 
such a hurry, I didn’t have time to ask questions.” 

I now turned to go, but the woman obliged me to 
inform her that I had not come to camp on the island, 
and that I was staying with Captain Jabe. 

“When they go off in this way,” she said, “they 
take the maids, and leave me and my husband in 
charge. And if you should fancy to come here and 
camp again, I know that Mrs. Raynor would wish me 
to make things as comfortable for you as I can, which, 
too, I’ll be very glad to do.” 

I thanked her, and went away. “This good 
woman,” said I to myself, “is the person who would 
have read my message to Sylvia, had I been foolish 
enough to hang one to the twig of the tree.” 


212 


CHAPTEE XXXIV 


THE CENTRAL HOTEL 

Captain Jabe did not return until late that Satur- 
day evening, but, as soon as he set foot on shore, I 
went to him and asked him if he could, in any way, 
get us to Sanpritchit that night, offering to pay him 
liberally for the service. 

“I’ve got a sail-boat,’ 7 said he, “and ye’d be right 
welcome to it, if it was here, but it ain’t here. I lent 
it to Captain Neal of Brimley, havin’ no present use 
for it, and he won’t bring it back till next week some 
time. There’s a dory here, to be sure, but Sanprit- 
chit’s twenty-five miles away, and that’s too far to go 
in a dory, especially at night. What’s your hurry ! ” 

“I have very important business in Sanpritchit,” I 
answered, “and, if it is possible, I must go there to- 
night.” 

“Sanpritchit’s a queer place to have business in,” 
said Captain Jabe, “and it’s a pity ye didn’t think of 
it this mornin’, when ye might have gone with me 
and took the train to Barley, and there’s a stage from 
there to Sanpritchit.” 

“Captain Jabe,” said I, “as there seems to be no 
other way for me to do this thing, I will pay you 
213 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


whatever you may think the service worth, if you 
will take me to Sanpritchit in your grocery boat, and 
start immediately. It will be slow work travelling, I 
know, but I think we can surely get there before 
morning.” 

The grocer-captain looked at me for a moment, 
with his eyes half shut, then he set down on the pier 
a basket which had been hanging on his arm, and, 
putting both hands in his pockets, stared steadfastly 
at me. 

“Do you know,” he remarked presently, “that that 
’ere proposition of yours puts me in mind of a story I 
heard of a California man and a New York man. 
The California man had come East to spend the winter, 
and the New York man was a business acquaintance 
o’ his. The California man called at the New York 
man’s office before business hours, and when he found 
the New York man hadn’t come down- town yet, he 
went up -town to see him at his house. It was a 
mighty fine house, and the New York man, being 
proud of it, took the California man all over it. ‘ Look 
here,’ said the California man, ‘what will you take 
for this house, furniture and all, just as it stands?’ 
‘I’ll take a hundred and twenty thousand dollars,’ 
said the New York man. ‘Does that include all the 
odds and ends,’ asked the California man,— ‘old maga- 
zines, umbrellas, needles and pins, empty bottles, pho- 
tographs, candlesticks, Japanese fans, coal-ashes, and 
all that kind of thing, that make a house feel like a 
home? My family’s cornin’ on from California with 
nothin’ but their clothes, and I want a house they can 
go right into and feel at home, even to the cold victuals 
for a beggar, if one happens to come along.’ ‘If I 
214 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


throw in the odds and ends, it will be one hundred 
and twenty-five thousand/ said the New York man. 
1 That’s all right/ said the California man, ‘and my 
family will arrive, with their clothes, on the train that 
gets here at six-twenty this afternoon. So, if your fam- 
ily can get out of the house before that time, I’m ready 
to pay the money, cash down.’ ‘All right/ said the 
New York man, ‘I’ll see that they do it.’ And at ten 
minutes after six the New York family went out, with 
their clothes, to a hotel, and at twenty minutes of 
seven the California family came to the house, with 
their clothes, and found everything all ready for ’em, 
the servants havin’ agreed to stay at California wages. 

“Now, then,” continued Captain Jabe, “I don’t 
want to hurt nobody’s feelin’s, and I wouldn’t say one 
word that would make the smallest infant think less 
of itself than it did afore I spoke, but it does strike 
me that that there proposition of yours is a good deal 
like the California man’s offer to the New York man.” 

“Well,” said I, “that turned out very well. Each 
got what he wanted.” 

“Yes,” replied Captain Jabe, “but this ain’t New 
York city. No, sir, not by a long shot. I am just as 
willin’ to accommodate a fellow-man, or a fellow- 
woman, fer that matter, as any reasonable person is. 
But if the President of the United States, and Queen 
Victoria, and the prophet Isaiah was to come to me 
of a Saturday night, after I’d just got home from a 
week’s work, and ask me to start straight off and take 
them to Sanpritchit, I’d tell ’em that I’d be glad to 
oblige ’em, but it couldn’t be done. And that’s what I 
say to ye, sir— neither more nor less.” And with 
this he picked up his basket and went into the house. 

215 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I was not discouraged, however, and when the cap- 
tain came out I proposed to him that he should take 
me to Sanpritchit the next day. 

“No, sir,” said he. “I ne^er have sailed my grocery 
boat on Sunday, and I don’t feel like beginnin’.” 

I walked away, but shortly afterwards joined him 
on board his vessel, which he was just about to leave 
for the night. 

“Captain,” I asked, “when does Sunday end in this 
part of the country?” 

“Well, strictly speakin’, it’s supposed to end at 
sunset, or commonly at six o’clock.” 

“Very well,” said I. “If you will start with me for 
Sanpritchit at six o’clock to-morrow evening, I will 
pay you your price.” 

I made this offer in the belief that, with ordinary 
good fortune, we could reach our destination before 
the Eaynor yacht weighed anchor on Monday morning. 

Captain Jabe considered the matter. “I am goin’ 
to Sanpritchit on Monday, anyway,” said he, “and if 
you’re in such a hurry to be there the fust thing in 
the mornin’, I’d just as lieve sail to-morrow evening, 
at six o’clock, as not.” 

It was not much after the hour at which some 
people in that part of the country, when they have a 
reason for it, still believe that Sunday comes to an 
end, that the grocery boat left her pier, with Captain 
Jabe, Abner, Walkirk, and me on board. There 
was nothing at all exhilarating in this expedition. I 
wanted to go rapidly, and I knew we should go slowly. 
I had passed a dull day, waiting for the time to start, 
and, to avoid thinking of the slow progress we should 
make, I soon turned in. 


216 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I woke very early, and went on deck. I do not 
know that I can remember a more disagreeable morn- 
ing. It was day, but the sun was not up. It was not 
cloudy, but there was a filmy uncertainty about the 
sky that was more unpleasant than the clouds. The 
air was cold, raw, and oppressive. There was no one 
on deck but Abner, and he was at the wheel, which, 
on account of the grocery store occupying so large a 
portion of the after part of the vessel, was placed well 
forward. Only a jib and mainsail were set, and as I 
came on deck these were fluttering and sagging, as 
Abner carefully brought the vessel round. Now I saw 
that we were floating slowly toward the end of a long 
pier, and that we were going to land. 

As I leaned over the side of the vessel, I did not 
wonder that Captain Jabez thought Sanpritchit was 
not much of a place to do business in. There were a 
few houses, perhaps a dozen, scattered here and there 
along a low shore, which rose at one end of the place 
into a little bluff, behind which I saw a mast or two. 
On the pier was a solitary man, and he was the only 
living being in sight. It was that dreary time before 
breakfast when everything that seems cheerless is 
more cheerless, everything that is sad more sad, every- 
thing that is discouraging more discouraging, and 
which right-minded persons, who are able to do so, 
spend in bed. 

Gradually the vessel approached the pier, and 
Abner, to whom I had not yet spoken, for I did not 
feel in the least like talking, left the wheel, and, as 
soon as he was near enough, threw a small line to the 
man on the pier, who caught it, pulling ashore a cable 
with a loop in the end, threw the latter over a post, 
217 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


and in a few minutes the grocery boat was moored. 
The man came on board, and he and Abner went 
below. 

It was too early to go on shore, for nothing could be 
done at that bleak, unearthly hour, but I was in that 
state of nervous disquietude when any change is a 
relief, and I stepped ashore. I was glad to put my 
feet upon the pier. Now I felt that I was my own 
master. It was too soon to go on board the yacht, 
but I could regulate my movements as I pleased, and 
was very willing to be alone during the hour or two 
in which I must remain inactive. 

I walked over the loose and warped planks of the 
pier, the dull water rippling and flopping about the 
timbers beneath me, inhaling that faint smell of 
the quiet water and soaked logs, which is always a 
little dispiriting to me, even at less dispiriting hours. 
The crowing of one or two cocks made me understand 
how dreadfully still everything was. The stillness of 
the very early morning is quite different from that of 
the night. During the latter people are asleep, and 
may be presumed to be happy. In the former they 
are about to wake up and be miserable. That, at 
least, was my notion, as I walked into the little village. 

Not a creature did I see, not a sound did I hear 
except my own footsteps. Presently I saw a cat run 
around the corner of a house, and this was a relief. I 
walked on past a wide space, in which there were no 
houses, when I came to a small, irregularly built white 
house, in front of which hung a sign bearing the in- 
scription, “Central Hotel.’ 7 If anything could have 
made me more disgusted with the world than I then 
was, it was this sign. If the name of this miserable 
218 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


little country tavern had been anything suitable to 
itself and the place,— if it had been called the “Plough 
and Harrow,’ 7 the “Gray Horse,” or even the “Blue 
Devil,”— I think I should have been glad to see it. A 
village inn might have been a point of interest to 
me, but Central Hotel in this mournful settlement of 
small farmers and fishermen— it was ridiculous ! 

However, the door of the house was open, and in- 
side was a man sweeping the sanded floor. When he 
saw me, he stopped his work and stared at me. 

“Good mornin’,” he said. “Don’t often see stran- 
gers here so airly. Did ye come on the grocery boat ? 
I saw her puttin’ in. Do ye want a room? Time for 
a good nap before breakfast.” 

I answered that I did not want a room, but the 
remark about breakfast made me feel that I should 
like a cup of coffee, and perhaps I might get it here. 
It might have been a more natural thing to go back 
to the boat and ask Abner to make me the coffee, but 
I did not want to go back to the boat. I did not 
want to wake Walkirk. I did not want to have him 
with me on shore. I did not want to have him talk 
to me. My present intention was to go to the yacht 
as soon as it was reasonable to suppose that its pas- 
sengers were awake, to see Mrs. Raynor, and to say to 
her what I had to say. I did not feel in the proper 
spirit for this, but, in the spirit in which I found 
myself, the less I was trammelled by advice, by sug- 
gestions of prudence, and all that sort of thing, the 
better it would be for me. So I was very glad that 
my understudy was asleep on the grocery boat, and 
hoped that he would remain in that condition until I 
had had my talk with Sylvia’s mother. 

219 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I put my request to the man, and he smiled. “Ye 
can’t get no coffee/’ he said, “until breakfast-time, 
and that’s pretty nigh two hours off. There is people 
in the place that have breakfast earlier than we do, 
but we keep boarders, ye know. We’ve only got 
Captain Fluke now, but generally have more, and ye 
couldn’t ask a man like Captain Fluke to git up ter 
his breakfast before half-past seven. Then ye don’t 
want yer baggage sent fer? Perhaps ye’ve come ter 
see friends, and it’s a little airly ter drop in on ’em f 
Come in, anyway, and take a seat.” 

I accepted the invitation. Sitting indoors might 
possibly be less dreary than walking out of doors. 

“Now, I tell ye what ye ought ter do,” continued 
the man. “Ye ought ter take a nip of whiskey with 
some bitters in it. It’s always kinder damp airly in 
the mornin’, and ye must feel it more, bein’ in a 
strange place. I’ve always thought a strange place 
was damper, airly in the mornin’, than a place ye’re 
used ter, and there’s nothin’ like whiskey with a little 
bitters to get out dampness.” 

I declined to partake of any Central Hotel whiskey, 
adding that the one refreshment I now needed was a 
cup of coffee. 

“But there’s no fire in the kitchen,” said he, “and 
there won’t be for ever so long. That’s how whiskey 
comes in so handy— don’t have ter have no fire. Ye 
jes pour it out and drink it, and there’s the end of it.” 

“Not always,” I remarked. 

“Ye’re right there,” said he, with a smile. “A good 
deal depends on how much ye pour.” He turned 
away, but stopped suddenly. “Look here,” said he. 
“If ye say so, I’ll make ye a cup of coffee. I’ve got 
220 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


an alcohol lamp up there that I can boil water with 
in no time. I’m out of alcohol, but, if you’ll pay fer 
it, I’ll fill the lamp with whiskey. That’ll burn just 
as well.” 

I willingly agreed to his proposition, and the man 
immediately disappeared into the back part of the 
house. 

I sat and looked about the little bar-room, in which 
there was absolutely nothing of the quaint interest 
which one associates with a country inn. It was a 
bare, cold, hard, sandy, dirty room, its air tainted 
with the stale odors of whiskey, sugar, and wood still 
wet from its morning mopping. In less than fifteen 
minutes the man placed before me a cup of coffee 
and some soda-biscuit. The coffee was not very good, 
but it was hot, and when I had finished it I felt like 
another man. 

“ There, now,” cried the barkeeper, looking at me 
with great satisfaction, “ don’t that take the dampness 
out of ye ? I tell ye, there’s no such stiffener in the 
airly mornin’ as whiskey, and if ye don’t use it in one 
way, ye can in another.” 

Truly the world seemed warmer and more cheerful, 
the sun was brighter. Perhaps now it was not too 
early to go on board the yacht. At any rate, I would 
go near where she lay, and judge for myself. I made 
inquiries of the innkeeper in regard to Mrs. Raynor’s 
yacht. 

“Yacht ! ” he said. “There’s no yacht here.” 

“You must be mistaken ! ” I cried. “A yacht be- 
longing to Mrs. Raynor sailed for Sanpritchit on 
Saturday, and it was not to leave here until this 
morning.” 


221 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Sanpritchit ! ” he exclaimed. “This is not San- 
pritchit.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked in amazement. 
“That boat was bound direct for Sanpritchit.” 

“Captain Jabe’s boat?” said the man. “Yes, and 
so she is. She sails fer Sanpritchit every Monday 
morning and generally stops here when she’s got any 
freight ter leave fer the store, though I never knowed 
her ter come so airly in the mornin’.” 

“My conscience ! ” I exclaimed. “I must get on 
board of her.” 

“Aboard of her ! ” said he. “She’s been gone more’n 
half an hour. She don’t often stop here more’n ten 
minutes, if she’s got the tide with her, which she had 
this mornin’, strong.” 


222 


CHAPTER XXXV 

MONEY MAKES THE MAKE GO 

I kushed out of the Central Hotel, and looked over 
the water, but I could see nothing of the grocery 
boat. She had disappeared beyond the bluff behind 
which I had stupidly taken it for granted Mrs. Ray- 
nor’s yacht was lying. 

“Oh, she’s clean gone,” said the barkeeper, who 
had joined rue, “and she’s not likely ter come back 
ag’in’ wind and tide. They must have thought you 
was asleep in your berth.” 

This was undoubtedly the truth, for there was no 
reason to suppose that any one on the boat knew I 
had gone on shore. 

“Where can I get a boat to follow them?” I cried. 

“Can’t say, exactly,” said the man. “We’ve got a 
big cat-boat, but she’s on the stocks gettin’ a new stern- 
post put in. You can see her mast stiekin’ up over 
the bluff, there. I don’t think there’s any other sail- 
boat in the place jes now, and Captain Fluke’s havin’ 
his fresh painted. I told him it was a bad time o’ 
the year ter do it in, but he’s Captain Fluke, and 
that’s all there’s ter say about it. There’s rowboats, 
but Sanpritchit’s eight miles from here, and it’s a 
223 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


putty long pull there and back, and I don’t know 
anybody here who’d care ter take it. If ye want ter 
go ter Sanpritchit, ye ought ter go in a wagon. That’s 
lots the easiest way.” 

“Where can I get a horse and vehicle?” I asked 
quickly, so much enraged with myself that I was glad 
to have some one to direct my movements. 

“That’s more’n I know, jes this minute,” said the 
man, “but if ye’ll step inside and sit down, I’ll go and 
ask ’em at the store what they can do fer ye. If it 
ain’t open yet, I’ll know where ter find ’em. If any- 
body comes along fer a mornin’ drink, jes tell ’em ter 
wait a minute, and I’ll be back.” 

In about fifteen or twenty minutes the barkeeper 
returned, and announced that I could not hire the 
horse at the store, for one of his hind shoes was off, 
and they wanted to use him, anyway. He had asked 
two or three other people, also, for the village was 
waking up by this time, but none of them could let 
me have a horse. 

“But I’ll tell ye what ye can do,” said the man, “if 
ye choose ter wait here a little while. The boss of this 
house went over ter Stipbitts, last night, ter see his 
mother, and I expect him back putty soon, and I 
guess he’ll let ye have his hoss. Ye see, the people 
about here ain’t used ter hiring hosses, and we is. 
People as keeps hotels is expected ter do it.” 

There was nothing for me to do but to wait for the 
return of the landlord of Central Hotel, and for very 
nearly an hour I walked up and down the main street 
of that wretched little hamlet, the name of which I 
neither heard nor asked, cursing my own stupidity and 
the incapacity of the waterside rustic. 

224 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


When the “boss’ 7 arrived, he was willing to let me 
have his mare and his buckboard, and a boy to drive 
me, but the animal must be fed first, and of course I 
would not start off without my breakfast ! As I had 
to wait, and the morning meal was almost ready, I 
partook of it, but the mare gave a great deal more 
time to her breakfast than I gave to mine. I hurried 
the preparations as much as I could, and shortly after 
eight o’clock we started. My little expedition had 
the features of a useless piece of trouble, but I had 
carefully considered the affair, and concluded that I 
had a good chance of success. Almost any horse could 
take me eight miles in an hour and a half, even with 
poor roads, and, from what I knew of the industrial 
methods of this part of the country, I did not believe 
that the necessary supplies would be put on the yacht 
before half-past nine. Therefore I did not allow my- 
self to doubt that I should reach Sanpritchit in time 
to see Mrs. Kaynor. 

The mare was a very deliberate traveller, and the 
boy who sat beside me was an easily satisfied driver. 

“We must go faster than this,” said I, after we 
had reached what appeared to be a highroad, “or I 
shall not get to Sanpritchit in time to attend to my 
business there.” 

“Ye can’t drive a hoss too fast when ye first set 
out,” answered the boy. “Ye’ll hurt a hoss if ye do 
that. After a little while she’ll warm up, and then 
she’ll go better. Oh, she can go, if she’s a mind ter. 
She’s a rattler when she really gets goin’.” 

“I don’t want her to rattle,” said I, “but what is 
her ordinary rate of travel— how many miles an hour, 
do you suppose ? ” 


225 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“ Don’t know as I ever counted / 7 the boy said. 
“Some miles she goes faster, and some miles she goes 
slower. A good deal depends on whether it’s uphill 
or downhill . 77 

“Well , 77 said I, taking out my watch, “we must 
keep her up to six miles an hour, at least, and then 
we shall do the eight miles by half-past nine, with 
something to spare . 77 

“ Eight miles ! 77 repeated the boy. “Eight miles to 
where ? 77 

“Sanpritch.it , 77 replied I. “That 7 s what they told 
me . 77 

“Oh, that’s by water , 77 said the driver. “But this 
road’s got to go around the end of the bay, and, after 
that, ’way round the top of the big marsh, and that 
makes it a good seventeen miles to Sanpritchit. Half- 
past nine ! Why, the boss told me, if I didn’t get 
there before twelve, I must stop somewhere and water 
the mare and give her some oats. I’ve got a bag of 
them back there . 77 

I sat dumb. Of course, with this conveyance, and 
seventeen miles between me and Sanpritchit, it was 
absurd to suppose that I could get there before the 
yacht sailed. It was ridiculous to go an inch farther 
on such a tedious and useless journey. 

“Boy,” I asked, “where is the nearest railroad 
station?” 

“Stipbitts,” said he. 

“How far?” 

“Five miles.” 

“Take me there,” I said. 

The boy looked at me in surprise. “I can’t do that. 
I was told to take you to Sanpritchit. That’s where 
226 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I’m goin’, and I’m goin’ to bring back a box belongin’ 
to Captain Fluke. That’s what I’m goin’ to do.” 

“I cannot get there in time,” I said. “I didn’t 
know it was so far. Take me to Stipbitts, and I will 
give you a dollar. Then you can go along and attend 
to Captain Fluke’s box. I have already paid for the 
drive to Sanpritchit.” 

“Have you got as much as a dollar and a half about 
you?” asked the boy. 

I replied that I had. 

“All right,” said he. “Give me that, and I’ll take 
you to Stipbitts.” 

The bargain was struck, I was taken to Stipbitts, 
and an hour afterwards I was on my way to my home 
at Arden. 

There was one very satisfactory feature about this 
course of action : it was plain and simple, and needed 
no planning. To attempt to follow the yacht would 
be useless. To wait anywhere for Walkirk would be 
equally so. He would be more apt to find me at my 
home than anywhere else. It was his business to find 
me, and there was no doubt that he would do it. I 
did not like to defer my intended interview with Mrs. 
Raynor, but it could not be helped. And as for Syl- 
via, if she had resolved to return to the House of 
Martha, the best place for me was the neighborhood 
of that institution. 


227 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


IN THE SHADE OF THE OAK 

I found my home at Arden very empty and dreary. 
The servants did not expect me, my grandmother had 
not returned, and the absence of Walkirk added much 
to my dissatisfaction with the premises. 

I was never a man who could sit down and wait for 
things to happen, and I felt now that it was absolutely 
necessary that I should do something, that I should 
talk to somebody. Accordingly, on the morning 
after my arrival, I determined to walk over to the 
House of Martha and talk to Mother Anastasia. For 
a man to consult with the Mother Superior of a reli- 
gious institution about his love-affairs was certainly an 
uncommon proceeding, with very prominent features 
of inappropriateness. But this did not deter me, for, 
apart from the fact that there was no one else to talk 
to, I considered that Mother Anastasia owed me some 
advice and explanation, and without hesitation I went 
to ask for it. 

When I reached the House of Martha, and made 
known my desire to speak to the head of the institu- 
tion, I was ushered into a room which was barer and 
harder than I had supposed, from Walkirk’ s descrip- 
228 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


tion of it. It did not even contain tlie religious pic- 
tures or the crucifixes which would have relieved the 
blankness of the walls in a Roman Catholic establish- 
ment of the kind. 

As I stood gazing about me, with a feeling of indig- 
nation that such a place as this should ever have been 
the home of such a woman as Sylvia, a door opened, 
and Mother Anastasia entered. 

Her appearance shocked me. I had in my mind 
the figure of a woman with whom I had talked— a 
woman glowing with the warmth of a rich beauty, 
draped in graceful folds of white, with a broad hat 
shadowing her face, and with a bunch of wild flowers 
in her belt. Here was a tall woman clothed in solemn 
gray, her face pale, her eyes fixed upon the ground. 
But it was Mother Anastasia— it was the woman who 
had talked to me of Sylvia, who had promised to help 
me with Sylvia. 

Still gazing on the floor, with her hands folded be- 
fore her, she asked me what I wished. At first I could 
not answer her. It seemed impossible to open my 
heart to a woman such as this one. But if I said any- 
thing, I must say it without hesitation, and so I began. 

“Of course,” I said, “I have come to see you about 
Sylvia Raynor. I am in much trouble regarding her. 
You promised to aid me, and I have come to ask for 
the fulfilment of that promise. My love for that girl 
grows stronger day by day, hour by hour, and I have 
been thwarted, mystified, and, I may say, deceived. I 
have come—” 

“She of whom you speak,” interrupted Mother 
Anastasia, “is not to be discussed in that way. She 
has declared her intention to unite herself perma- 
229 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


nently with our sisterhood, and to devote her life to 
our work. She can have nothing more to do with 
you, nor you with her.” 

“That will not do at all,” I said excitedly. “When 
I last saw you, you did not talk like that, and the 
opinions you expressed at that time are just as good 
now as they were then. I want to go over this matter 
with you. There are things that I have a right to 
know.” 

A little frown appeared upon her brow. “This 
conversation must cease,” she said. “The subjects 
you wish to discuss are forbidden to our sisterhood. 
You must mention them no more.” 

I tried hard to restrain myself and speak quietly. 
“Madam—” said I. 

“You must not call me 1 madam/ ” she broke in. 
“I am the Mother Superior of this house.” 

“I understand that,” I continued, “and I under- 
stand your feeling of duty. But you have other duties 
besides those you owe to your sisterhood. You made 
me a promise, which I accepted with an honest and 
confiding heart. If you cannot do what you promised, 
you owe it to me to explain why you cannot do it. I 
do not know what has happened to change your views 
and her views, and, so far as I am concerned, the 
whole world. You can set me right— you can explain 
everything to me.” 

The frown disappeared, and her face seemed paler. 
“It is absolutely impossible to discuss anything of 
the sort in this house. I must insist—” 

I did not permit her to finish her sentence. “Very 
well, then ! ” I exclaimed. “If you cannot talk to me 
here, talk to me somewhere else. When you desire 
230 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


it , you go outside of these walls, and you speak freely 
and fully. You have so spoken with me, and, because 
you have done so, it is absolutely necessary that you 
do it again. Your own heart, your conscience, must 
tell you that after what you have said to me, and after 
what I have said to you, it is unjust, to say no more, 
to leave me in this state of cruel mystification— not to 
tell me why you have set aside your promise to me, 
or even to tell me, when we talked together of Sylvia, 
that we were then at the home of Sylvia’s mother.” 

For the first time, she looked at me straight in my 
eyes, as a true woman would naturally look at a man 
who was speaking strongly to her. I think I made 
her forget, for a few moments at least, that she was a 
mother superior. Then her eyes fell again, and she 
stood silent. 

“Perhaps,” she said presently, and speaking slowly, 
“I ought to explain these things to you. It is a great 
mistake, as I now see, that I ever said anything to 
you on the subject. But things were different then, 
and I did not know that I was doing wrong. Still, 
if you rely on me to set you right, you shall be set 
right. I see that this is quite as necessary from other 
points of view as from your own. I cannot speak 
with you to-day, but to-morrow about this time I 
shall be on the road to Maple Ridge, where I am 
going to visit a sick woman.” 

“I shall join you on the road,” I answered, and 
took my leave. 

For the rest of the day I thought of little but the 
promised interview on the morrow. To this I looked 
forward with the greatest interest, but also with the 
greatest anxiety. I feared that Mother Anastasia 
231 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


would prove to me that I must give up all thoughts 
of Sylvia. In fact, if Sylvia had resolved to devote 
herself to the service of the House of Martha, — and she 
had told me herself that she had so resolved,— I was 
quite sure she would do so. Then what was there for 
Mother Anastasia to say, or for me to do f The case was 
settled. Sylvia Kaynor must be nothing to me. 

I greatly wished for Walkirk. I knew he would 
encourage me, in spite of the obvious blackness of the 
situation. It was impossible for me to encourage 
myself. But, however black my fate might be, I 
longed to know why it had been made black, and all 
about it, and so waited with a savage impatience for 
the morning and Mother Anastasia. 

Immediately after breakfast, the next day, I was on 
the Maple Kidge road, strolling from our village 
toward the top of a hill a mile or more away, whence 
I could see the rest of the road, as it wound through 
the lonely country, and at last lost itself in the woods. 
Back again to Arden I came, and had covered the 
distance between the village and the hilltop five times, 
when, turning and coming down the hill, I saw, far 
away, the figure of a woman walking. 

I knew it was Mother Anastasia, but I did not 
hasten to meet her. In fact, I thought the farther 
she was from the village when our interview took 
place, the more likely she would be to make it long 
enough to be satisfactory. I came slowly down the 
hill, and, reaching a place where a great oak-tree 
shaded the road, I waited. 

She came on quickly, her gray dress appearing 
heavier and more sombre against the sunlighted grass 
and foliage than it had appeared in the dreary room 
232 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


of the House of Martha. As she approached the tree, 
I advanced to meet her. 

“You made me come too far,” she said reproach- 
fully, as soon as we were near each other. “The lane 
which leads to the house I came to visit is a quarter 
of a mile behind me.” 

“I am sorry,” I replied, “that I have made you 
walk any farther than necessary on such a warm 
morning, but I did not know that you intended to 
turn from this road. Let us step into the shade of 
this tree— we can talk more comfortably there.” 

She looked at the tree, but did not move. “What 
I have to say,” she remarked, “can be said here. It 
will not take long.” 

“You must not stand in the sun,” I replied. “You 
are already heated. Come into the shade.” And, 
without waiting her answer, I walked toward the 
tree. She followed me. 

“How, then,” said I, “here is a great stone, con- 
veniently placed, upon which we can sit and rest 
while we talk.” 

She fixed her large eyes upon me with a certain 
surprise. “Truly, you have no regard for conven- 
tionalities. It is sufficiently out of the way for a 
sister of the House of Martha to meet a gentleman in 
this manner, but to sit with him under a tree would 
be ridiculously absurd, to say the least of it.” 

“It does not strike me in that light,” I said. “You 
are tired and warm, and must sit down. You came 
here on my account, and I regard you, in a manner, 
as a guest.” 

She smiled, and looked at the rock which I had 
pointed out. It was a flat one, about three feet long, 
233 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


and it seemed as if it had been put there on purpose 
to serve for a seat. 

“I am tired / 7 she said, and sat down upon it. As 
she did so, she gave a look about her, and, at the same 
time, made a movement with her right hand, which I 
often before had noticed in women. It was the in- 
voluntary expression of the female soul longing for a 
fan. A fan, however, made up no part of the para- 
phernalia of a sister of the House of Martha. 

“Allow me / 7 I said, and taking off my straw hat I 
gently fanned her. 

Mother Anastasia laughed. “This is really too 
much. Please stop it. But you may lend me your 
hat. I did not know the morning would be so warm, 
and I am afraid I walked too fast. But we are losing 
time. Will you tell me precisely what it is you wish 
to know of me f 77 

“I can soon do that / 7 I answered, “but I must first 
say that I believe you will suffocate if you try to talk 
from under that cavernous bonnet. Why don’t you 
take it off, and get the good of this cool shade? You 
had discarded all that sort of thing when I last talked 
with you, and you were then just as much a mother 
superior as you are now . 77 

She smiled. “The case was very different then. I 
was actually obliged, by the will of another, to discard 
the garb of our sisterhood . 77 

“I most earnestly wish / 7 said I, “that you could be 
obliged to do partially the same thing now. With 
that bonnet on, you do not seem at all the same per- 
son with whom I talked on Tangent Island. You 
appear like some one to whom I must open the whole 
subject anew . 77 


234 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Oh, don’t do that/’ she said, with a deprecating 
movement of her hand,— “I really haven’t the time 
to listen. And if my bonnet hinders your speech, 
off it shall come. Now, then, I suppose yon want to 
know the reason of my change of position in regard 
to Sylvia and you.” As she said this, she took off her 
bonnet— not with a jerk, as Sylvia had once removed 
hers, but carefully, without disturbing the dark hair 
which was disposed plainly about her head. I was 
greatly relieved. This was an entirely different 
woman to talk to. 

“Yes,” I replied, “that is what I want to know.” 

“I will briefly give you my reasons,” she said, still 
fanning herself with my hat, while I stood before her, 
earnestly listening, “and you will find them very good 
and conclusive reasons. When I spoke to you before, 
the case was this : Sylvia Raynor had had a trouble, 
which made her think she was the most miserable girl 
in the whole world, and she threw herself into our 
sisterhood. Her mother did not object to this, be- 
cause, of course, Sylvia entered as a probationer, and 
she thought a few months of the House of Martha life 
would do her good. That her daughter would per- 
manently join the sisterhood never occurred to her. 
As I was a relative, it was a natural thing that the 
girl should enter a house of which I was the head. I 
did not approve of the step, but at first I had no fears 
about it. After a while, however, I began to have 
fears. She never liked our life, and never sympathized 
with it, and her heart was never enlisted in the cause 
of the sisterhood. But, after a time, I found she was 
endeavoring to conquer herself, and when a woman 
with a will— and Sylvia is one of these— under takes 
235 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


in earnest to conquer herself, she generally succeeds. 
Then it was I began to have my fears, and then it was 
I wished to divert her mind from the life of the sister- 
hood, and sent her back to the world to which she 
belongs.” 

“Then it was you gave me your promise? ” I added. 

“Yes,” she answered, “and I gave it honestly. I 
would have helped you all I could. I truly believed 
that in so doing I was acting for Sylvia’s good.” 

“I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” I said. 
“And, tell me, did Mrs. Raynor know, when I was on 
the island, of my affection for Sylvia ? ” 

“She knew as much as I knew,” was the answer, 
“for I went to the island on purpose to consult with 
her on the subject. And when you confided in me, and 
I gave you my promise to help you, I also told her 
about that.” 

“And did she approve?” I asked anxiously. 

“She did not disapprove. She knew all about you 
and your family, although she had never seen you 
until you were at her island.” 

“It is strange,” said I, “that I should have hap- 
pened to go to that place at that time.” 

“Yes,” she continued, “it does seem rather odd. 
But, as I was going to say, a letter came, not more 
than an hour after we had had our conversation, which 
totally altered the face of affairs. Sylvia wrote that 
she had resolved to devote her life to the sisterhood. 
This was a great blow to her mother and to me, but 
Mrs. Raynor had firmly resolved not to interfere with 
her daughter’s resolutions in regard to her future life. 
She had done so once, and the results had been very 
236 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


unfortunate. I was of an entirely different mind, and 
I resolved, if the thing could be done, to change Syl- 
via’s purpose. But I failed, and that is the end of it. 
She is not to be moved. I know her well, and her 
conviction and determination are not to be changed. 
She is now on a visit to her mother, and when she re- 
turns she will enter the House of Martha as an inmate 
for life.” 

“Yes,” said I, after a little pause, “I know that. 
I saw her a few days ago, and she told me of her 
purpose.” 

“What!” cried Mother Anastasia, “you have seen 
her ! A few days ago ! She told you all this ! 
Why did you not say so? Why did you come to 
me!” 

“Do not be displeased,” I said, and as I spoke I 
seated myself beside her on the stone. She made no 
objections. I think she was too much agitated even 
to notice it. “I had no intention of keeping anything 
from you, but I first wanted to hear what you had to 
tell me. Sylvia did not tell me everything, nor have 
you.” 

“Met her, and talked with her ! ” ejaculated Mother 
Anastasia. “Will you tell me how this happened? ” 

She listened with the greatest attention to my 
story. 

“It is wonderful,” she said, when I had finished. 
“It seems like a tantalizing fate. But it is well you 
did not overtake Mrs. Raynor. It would have been 
of no good to you, and the interview would have 
greatly troubled her.” 

“How tell me,” I asked, “what I most want to 
237 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


know : What was the reason of Sylvia’s sudden deter- 
mination? ” 

Mother Anastasia fixed her dark eyes on mine. 
They were full of a tender sadness. “I thought of 
you nearly all last night/’ she said, “and I determined 
that if you should ask me that question to-day I would 
answer it. It is a hard thing to do, but it is the best 
thing. Sylvia’s resolve was caused by her conviction 
that she loved you. Feeling assured of that, she 
unhesitatingly took the path which her conscience 
pointed out to her.” 

“Conscience ! ” I exclaimed. 

“Yes,” said Mother Anastasia, “it was her con- 
science. She was far more in earnest than we had 
thought her. It was conviction, not desire or sym- 
pathy, which had prompted her to enter the sister- 
hood. Now her convictions, her conscience, prompt 
her to crush everything which would interfere with 
the life she has chosen. All this she has told me. 
Her conscience stands between you and her, and you 
must understand that what you wish is absolutely 
impossible. You must be strong, and give up all 
thought of her. Will you promise me to do this?” 
And as she spoke she laid her hand upon my arm. 
“Promise it, and I shall feel that I have devoted my- 
self this morning to as true a mission of charity as 
anything to which our sisters vow themselves.” 

I did not respond, but sat silent with bowed head. 

“I must go now,” said Mother Anastasia. “Reflect 
on what I have said, and your heart and your practi- 
cal sense will tell you that what I ask you to do is 
what you ought to do, and must do. Good-by.” And 
she held out her hand to me. 


238 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I took her hand and held it. The thought flashed 
into my mind that when I released that hand the last 
tie between Sylvia and myself would be broken. 

Presently the hand was adroitly withdrawn, Mother 
Anastasia rose, and I was left alone, sitting in the 
shadow of the tree. 


239 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


THE PERFORMANCE OF MY UNDERSTUDY 

On the next day, when Walkirk came back, I received 
him coolly. To be sure, the time of his return was 
now of slight importance, but my manner showed him 
that, on general principles, I blamed his delay. 

I did not care to hear his explanations, but pro- 
ceeded at once to state the misfortunes which had 
befallen me. I told him in detail all that had hap- 
pened since I left the floating grocery. I did not feel 
that it was at all necessary to do this, but there was a 
certain pleasure in talking of my mishaps and sorrows. 
I was so dreadfully tired of thinking of them ! 

As I told Walkirk of my interview with Mother 
Anastasia on the Maple Ridge road, he laughed 
aloud. He instantly checked himself and begged my 
pardon, but assured me that never had he heard of a 
man doing anything so entirely out of the common as 
to make an appointment with a mother superior to 
meet him under a tree. At first I resented his laugh, 
but I could not help seeing for myself that the situa- 
tion as he presented it was certainly an odd one, and 
* that a man with his mind free to ordinary emotions 
might be excused for being amused at it. 

240 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


When I had finished, and had related how Mother 
Anastasia had proved to me that all possible connec- 
tion between myself and Sylvia Raynor was now at an 
end, Walkirk was not nearly so much depressed as I 
thought he ought to be. In fact, he endeavored to 
cheer me, and did not agree with Mother Anastasia 
that there was no hope. 

At this I lost patience. “ Confound it!’ 7 I cried, 
“what you say is not only preposterous, but unfeeling. 
I hate this eternal making the best of things, when 
there is no best. With me everything is at its worst, 
and it is cruel to try to make it appear otherwise.” 

“I am sorry to annoy you,” he said, “but I must 
insist that, to me, the situation does not appear to be 
without some encouraging features. Let me tell you 
what has happened to me since we parted.” 

I resumed the seat from which I had risen to stride 
up and down the room, and Walkirk began his nar- 
rative. 

“I do not know, sir,” he said, “that I ever have 
been so surprised as when I went on deck of the gro- 
cery boat, a short time before breakfast, and found 
that you were not on board. Captain Jabe and his 
man were equally astonished, and I should have feared 
that you had fallen overboard, if a man who had 
come on the boat at a little pier where we had stopped 
very early in the morning had not assured us that he 
had seen you go ashore at that place, but had not 
thought it worth while to mention so commonplace 
an occurrence. I wished to put back to the pier, but 
it was then far behind us, and Captain Jabe positively 
refused to do so. Both wind and tide would be 
against us, he said, and if you chose to go ashore 
241 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


without saying anything to anybody, that was your 
affair, and not his. I thought it possible you might 
have become tired with the slow progress of his vessel, 
and had left it to hire a horse, to get to Sanpritchit 
before we did. 

“When we reached Sanpritchit, and you were not 
there, I was utterly unable to understand the situa- 
tion. But Mrs. Raynor’s yacht was there, just on the 
point of sailing, and I considered it my duty, as your 
representative, to hasten on board, and to apprise the 
lady that you were on your way to see her. Of course, 
she wanted to know why you were coming, and all 
that, and as you were not there to do it yourself, I told 
her the nature of your errand, and impressed upon 
her the importance of delaying her departure until 
she had seen you and had heard what you had to say. 
She did not agree with me that the interview would 
be of importance to any one concerned, but she con- 
sented to wait for a time and see you. If you arrived, 
she agreed to meet you on shore, for she would not 
consent to your coming on board the yacht where her 
daughter was. I went ashore and waited there with 
great impatience until early in the afternoon when a 
boy arrived, who said he had started to bring you to 
Sanpritchit, but that you had changed your mind, and 
he had conveyed you to a railroad station where you 
had taken a western-bound train. 

“I went to the yacht to report. I think Mrs. Ray- 
nor was relieved at your non-arrival, and as she knew 
I wished to join you as soon as possible, she invited 
me to sail with them to a little town on the coast,— I 
forget its name,— from which I could reach the rail- 
road much quicker than from Sanpritchit.” 

242 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“She did not object, then,” said I, “to your being 
on the yacht with her daughter?” 

“Oh, no,” he answered, “for she found that Miss 
Raynor did not know me, or, at least, did not recognize 
me, and had no idea that I was in any way connected 
with you. Of course, I accepted Mrs. Raynor’s offer, 
but I did not save any time by it, for the wind fell off 
toward evening, and for hours there was no wind at 
all, and it was late the next afternoon when we 
reached the point where I went ashore.” 

“Did you see anything of Miss Raynor in all that 
time?” I inquired. 

“Yes,” he replied. “She was on deck a great deal, 
and I had several conversations with her.” 

“With her alone?” I asked. 

“Yes,” said he. “Mrs. Raynor is a great reader, 
and fond of naps, and I think that the young lady 
was rather tired of the companionship of her uncle and 
the other gentleman, who were very much given to 
smoking, and was glad of the novelty of a new ac- 
quaintance. On my part, I felt it my duty to talk 
to her as much as possible, that I might faithfully 
report to you all that she said, and thus give you an 
idea of the state of her mind.” 

“Humph ! ” I exclaimed. “But what did she say ? ” 

“Of course,” continued Walkirk, “a great deal of 
our conversation was desultory and of no impor- 
tance, but I endeavored, as circumspectly as I could, 
so to turn the conversation that she might say some- 
thing which it would be worth while to report to 
you.” 

“How, Walkirk,” said I, “if I had known you were 
doing a thing of that sort, I should not have approved 
243 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


of it. But did she say anything that in any way re- 
ferred to me ? ” 

“Yes, she did,” he answered, “and this is the way 
it came about. Something — I think it was the heat 
of the windless day— caused her to refer to the op- 
pressive costume of the sisters of the House of Martha, 
and she then remarked that she supposed I knew she 
was one of that sisterhood. I replied that I had been 
so informed, and then betrayed as much natural in- 
terest in regard to the vocations and purposes of the 
organization as I thought would be prudent. I should 
have liked to bring up every possible argument 
against the folly of a young lady of her position and 
prospects extinguishing the very light of her existence 
in that hard, cold, soul-chilling house which I knew 
so well, but the circumstances did not warrant that. 
I was obliged to content myself with very simple 
questions. 

“‘How do the sisters employ themselves?’ I in- 
quired. 

“‘In all sorts of ways,’ she said. ‘Some nurse or 
teach, and others work for wages, like ordinary people, 
except that they do not have anything to do with the 
money they earn, which is paid directly to the house.’ 

“‘I think,’ I then remarked, ‘that there are a good 
many employments which would give the sisters very 
pleasant occupation, such as decorative art or clerical 
work.’ 

“At this her face brightened. ‘Clerical work is 
very nice. I tried that once, myself.’ 

“‘Was it bookkeeping?’ I asked. 

“‘Oh, no,’ she answered. ‘I shouldn’t have liked 
that. It was writing from dictation. I worked regu- 
244 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


larly so many hours every morning. It was a oook 
which was dictated to me — sketches of travel ; that is, 
it was partly travel and partly fiction. It was very 
interesting.’ 

“‘I should think it would he so/ I answered. ‘To 
ladies of education and literary taste, I should say such 
employment would be highly congenial. Do you in- 
tend to devote yourself principally to that sort of thing?’ 

“‘Oh, no,’ said she, ‘not at all. I like the work 
very much, but, for various reasons, I shall not do 
any more of it.’ 

“I endeavored mildly to remonstrate against such a 
decision, but she shook her head. ‘I was not a full 
sister at the time,’ she said, ‘and this was an experi- 
ment. I shall do no more of it.’ 

“Her manner was very decided, but I did not drop 
the subject. ‘If you do not fancy writing from dicta- 
tion,’ I said, ‘why don’t you try type-writing ? I 
should think that would be very interesting, and it 
could be done in your own room. The work would 
not require you to go out at all, if you object to that.’ 
How, this was a slip, because she had not told me that 
she had gone out, but she did not notice it. 

“‘A sister does not have a room of her own,’ she 
answered, ‘and I do not understand type-writing.’ 
And with that she left me, and went below looking 
very meditative. 

“But my remark had had an effect. I think it was 
not half an hour afterwards when she came to me. 

“‘I have been thinking about your suggestion of 
type-writing/ she said. ‘Is it difficult to learn? Do 
you understand it? What use could I make of a 
machine in the House of Martha? ’ 


245 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“I told her that I understood the art, and gave her 
all the information I could in regard to it, taking care 
to make the vocation as attractive as my conscience 
would allow. As to the use she could make of it, I 
said that at present there was a constant demand for 
type-written copies of all sorts of writings— legal, 
literary, scientific, everything. 

“‘And people would send me things/ she asked, 
‘ and I would copy them on the type-writer, and send 
them back, and that would be all ? 7 

“‘You have put it exactly/ I said. ‘If you do not 
choose, you need have no communication whatever 
with persons ordering the work.* 

“‘And do you know of any one who would want 
such work done ! 7 

“‘Yes/ I said. ‘I know people who would be very 
glad to send papers to be copied. I could procure 
you some work which would be in no hurry, and that 
would be an advantage to you, in the beginning. 7 

“‘Indeed, it would/ she said. And then her mother 
joined us, and the subject of type -writing was dropped. 
The only time that it was referred to again was at the 
very end of my trip, when Miss Raynor came to me 
just as I was preparing to leave the yacht, and told 
me that she had made up her mind to get a type- 
writer, and to learn to use it, and she asked me, if I 
were still willing to assist her in securing work, to 
send my address to the Mother Superior of the 
House of Martha, which, of course, I assured her I 
would do. 77 

“Why, in the name of common sense/ 7 1 cried, turn- 
ing suddenly around in my chair and facing Walkirk, 
“did you put into Miss Raynor’s head all that stuff 
246 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


about type-writing? Did you do it simply because 
you liked to talk to her ? ” 

“By no means/’ be replied. “I did it solely on 
your account and for your benefit. If sbe learns to 
copy manuscripts on tbe type-writer, wby should sbe 
not copy your manuscripts?— not immediately, per- 
haps, but in tbe natural course of business. If sbe 
should make me her agent, which I have no doubt 
sbe would be willing to do, I could easily manage all 
that. In this way, you could establish regular com- 
munications with her. There would be no end to 
your opportunities, and I am sure you would know 
how to use them with such discretion and tact that 
they would be very effective.” 

I folded my arms, and looked at him. “Walkirk,” 
said I, “you are positively, completely, and hopelessly 
off the track. Mother Anastasia has shown me ex- 
actly how I stand with Sylvia Raynor. She has 
vowed herself to that sisterhood because she thinks it 
is wrong to love me. She has made her decision, and 
has taken all the wretched steps which have rendered 
that decision final, and now I do not intend to try to 
make her do what she religiously believes is wrong.” 

“That is not my idea,” answered Walkirk. “What 
I wish is that she shall get herself into such a state of 
mind that she shall think the sisterhood is wrong, and, 
therefore, leave it.” 

I gave a snort of despair and disgust, and began to 
stride up and down the room. Presently, however, I 
recovered my temper. “Walkirk,” said I, “I am 
quite sure that you mean well, and I don’t intend to 
find fault with you, but this sort of thing does not suit 
me. Let us have no more of it.” 


247 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


A BROKEN TRACE 

As soon as my grandmother heard that I was at 
Arden, she terminated her visit abruptly, and re- 
turned home. When she saw me, she expressed the 
opinion that my holiday had not been of any service 
to me. She did not remember ever seeing me so 
greatly out of condition, and was of the opinion that 
I ought to see the doctor. 

“These watering-places and islands,” she said, “are 
just as likely to be loaded down with malaria as any 
other place. In fact, I don’t know but it is just as 
well for our health for us to stay at home— that is, 
if we live in a place like Arden.” 

I had no desire to conceal from this nearest and 
dearest friend and relative the real cause of my ap- 
pearance, and I laid before her all the facts concern- 
ing Sylvia and myself. 

She was not affected as I had supposed she would be. 
In fact, my narrative appeared to relieve her mind of 
some of her anxieties. 

“Anyway,” she remarked, after a moment or two 
of consideration, “this is better than malaria. If you 
get anything of that kind into your system, it is prob- 
248 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


able that you will never get it out, and it is at any 
time likely to affect your health, one way or another. 
But love-affairs are different. They have a powerful 
influence upon a person, as I well know, but there is 
not about them that insidious poison which, although 
you may think you have entirely expelled it from 
your system, is so likely to crop out again, especially 
in the spring and fall.” 

To this I made no answer but a sigh. What was 
the good of saying that in my present state of mind 
health was a matter of indifference to me ? 

“I am not altogether surprised,” continued my 
grandmother, “that that secretary business turned out 
in this way. If it had been any other young woman, 
I should have advised against it, but Sylvia Raynor is 
a good match,— good in every way— and I thought 
that if her working with you had made you like her, 
and had made her like you, it might be very well. 
But I am sure it never entered my mind that if you 
did come to like each other, she would choose the 
sisterhood instead of you. I knew that she was not 
then a full sister, and I hadn’t the slightest doubt that 
if you two really did fall in love with each other she 
would leave the House of Martha as soon as her time 
was up. You must not think, my dear boy,” she con- 
tinued, “that I am anxious to get rid of you, but you 
know you must marry some day.” 

I solemnly shook my head. “All that,” I said, “is 
at an end. We need speak no more of it.” 

My grandmother arose, and gently placed her hand 
upon my shoulder. “Come, come ! Do not be so 
dreadfully cast down. You have yet one strong 
ground of hope.” 


249 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“What is that?” I inquired. 

My grandmother looked into my face and smiled. 
“The girl isn’t dead yet,” she answered. 

I now found myself in a very unsettled and un- 
pleasant state of mind. My business affairs, which 
had been a good deal neglected of late, I put into the 
charge of Walkirk, who attended to them with much 
interest and ability. My individual concerns— that 
is to say, the guidance and direction of myself— I took 
into my own hands, and a sorry business I made of it. 

I spent a great deal of my time wondering whether 
or not Sylvia had returned to the House of Martha. 
I longed for her coming. The very thought of her 
living within a mile of me was a wild and uneasy 
pleasure. Then I would ask myself why I wished her 
to come. Her presence in the neighborhood would 
be of no good to me unless I saw her, and, of course, I 
could not see her. And, if this could be so, what 
would be worse for me, or for her, than our seeing 
each other ? From these abstract questions I came to 
a more practical one : What should I do! To go 
away seemed to be a sensible thing, but I was tired of 
going away. I liked my home, and, besides, Sylvia 
would be in the neighborhood. It also seemed wise 
to stay, and to endeavor to forget her. But how could 
I forget her, if she were in the neighborhood ? If she 
were to go away, I might be willing to go away also. 
But the chances were that I should not know where 
she had gone, and how could I endure to go to any 
place where I was certain she was not? 

During this mental tangle I confided in no one. 
There was no one who could sympathize with my 
varying view of the subject, and I knew there was 
250 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


no one with whose view of the subject I could agree. 
Sometimes it was almost impossible for me to sym- 
pathize with myself. 

It suited my mood to take long walks in the sur- 
rounding country. One morning, returning from one 
of these, when about half a mile out of the village, I 
saw in the road, not very far from me, a carriage, 
which seemed to be in distress. It was a four- 
wheeled, curtained vehicle, of the kind to be had for 
hire at the railroad stations, and beside the raw-boned 
horse which drew it stood a man and a woman, the 
latter in the gray garb of a sister of the House of Martha. 

When I recognized this costume, my heart gave a 
jump, and I hastened toward the group. But the 
woman had perceived my approach, and, to my sur- 
prise, came toward me. I quickly saw that it was 
Mother Anastasia. My heart sank— without any good 
reason, it must be admitted, but still it sank. 

The face of the Mother Superior was slightly flushed, 
as she walked rapidly in my direction. Saluting her, 
I inquired what had happened. 

“Nothing of importance,” she answered. “A trace 
has broken.” 

“I will go and look at it,” I said. “Sometimes that 
sort of mishap can be easily remedied.” 

“Oh, no,” said she, “don’t trouble yourself. It’s 
broken in the middle, and so you cannot cut a fresh 
hole in it, or do any of those things which men do to 
broken traces. I have told the boy that he must take 
out the horse, and ride it back to the stable, and get 
another set of harness. That is the only thing to be 
done. I shall wait here for his return, and I am very 
glad to have met you.” 


251 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Naturally,- 1 was pleased at this. “Then you have 
something to say to me ? ” I remarked. 

“Yes,” she answered, “I have a good deal to say. 
Let us walk on to a more shaded place.” 

“Now, it strikes me,” said I, “that the most pleasant 
place to wait will be in the carriage. There we can 
sit and talk quite comfortably.” 

“Oh, no,” she said, with a sort of half-laugh. “It is 
stuffy and horrid. I greatly prefer the fresh air. I 
have reason to suppose you do not object to convers- 
ing under a tree. I see a promising bit of shade a 
little farther on.” 

“Would it be wise to go so far from the carriage?” 
I asked. “Have you left in it anything of value? ” 

Mother Anastasia was more animated than I had 
ever seen her before when in the uniform of the 
house. 

“Oh, pshaw ! ” she answered. “You know the 
people around here do not steal things out of car- 
riages. Let us step on.” 

“But first,” I said, “I will run down and pull the 
carriage out of the way of passing vehicles. It now 
stands almost across the road.” 

With a movement of impatience, she put her hand 
upon my arm. “Don’t trouble yourself about that 
hack. Let it stand where it is. I wish to speak with 
you, and do not let us waste our time.” 

I had no objection to speaking with Mother Anas- 
tasia, and, giving no further thought to the abandoned 
vehicle, I walked with her to a spot where a clump 
of straggling locust-trees threw a scanty shade upon 
the sidewalk. I could not but feel that my companion 
had something important to say to me, for she was 
252 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


evidently a good deal agitated. She stepped a little 
in front of me, and then turned and faced me. 

“ There is no place to sit down here,” she said, “but 
Fm not tired, are you 1 ?” 

I assured her that I was not, and would as soon talk 
standing as sitting. 

“Now, then,” she began, “tell me about yourself. 
What have you been doing ? What are your plans ? ” 

“My plans ! ” I cried. “Of what importance are my 
plans and actions ? I thought you wished to speak to 
me of Sylvia.” 

She smiled. “There is really nothing to say about 
that young person— of whom, by the way, you should 
not speak as Sylvia. She is now a full member of 
the sisterhood, and has accepted the name of Sister 
Hagar. We found that the other sisters would not 
like it if an exception were made in her favor, in re- 
gard to her name.” 

“* Hagar M ” I groaned. “Horrible ! ” 

“Oh, no,” replied Mother Anastasia, “there is noth- 
ing horrible about it. Hagar is a little harsh, per- 
haps, but one soon gets used to that sort of thing.” 

“I can never get used to it,” I said. 

“My dear Mr. Vanderley,” said the Mother Supe- 
rior, speaking very earnestly, but with a gentleness 
that was almost affectionate, “I wish I could impress 
upon your mind that there is no need of your getting 
used to the name of our young sister, or of your liking 
it or disliking it. You ought thoroughly to under- 
stand, from what she has told you, and from what I 
have told you, that she never can be anything to you, 
and that, out of regard to yourself, if to no one else, 
you should cease to think of her as I see you do think.” 

253 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“As long as I live in this world/’ I replied, “I shall 
continue to think of her as I do think.” 

Mother Anastasia gave a sigh. “The unreasonable- 
ness of men is something inexplicable. Perhaps you 
think I am not old enough to give you advice, but I 
will say that, for your own sake, you ought to crush 
and obliterate the feelings you have toward our sister. 
And if you do not choose to do it for your own sake, 
you ought to do it for her sake, and for that of our 
sisterhood. It makes it extremely awkward for us, to 
say the least of it, to know that there is a gentleman in 
the village who is in love with one of the sisters of 
the House of Martha.” 

“I suppose you would have me exile myself,” I 
replied,— “leave forever my home, my grandmother, 
everything that is dear to me,— and all for the sake 
of the peace and quiet of your sisterhood. Let me 
assure you, I do not care enough for your sisterhood 
to do that.” 

The Mother Superior smiled ironically, but not ill- 
naturedly. “I am very much afraid,” she remarked, 
“that in this matter you care for no one but yourself. 
There is nothing so selfish as a man in love.” 

“He needs to be,” I answered. “But tell me, is 
Sylvia here f ” 

“Sylvia again ! ” said she, half laughing. “Yes, she 
has returned to the House of Martha. And you can see 
for yourself that, if you continue in your present state 
of mind, it will be impossible for her ever to go outside 
of the house.” 

“I shall not hurt her,” I answered. 

“Yes, you will hurt her,” quickly replied Mother 
254 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Anastasia. “You will liurt her very much if you 
meet her, and show by your words, looks, or actions 
that your former attitude toward her is not changed.” 
She came nearer to me, looking into my face with her 
eyes full of an earnest tenderness, and, as she spoke, 
she laid the tips of her fingers gently upon my shoul- 
der. She had a very pleasant way of doing this. “I 
do wish,” she said, “that you would let me prevail 
upon you to do what your conscience must tell you is 
right. If you have ever loved the girl who was once 
Sylvia Raynor, that is the best of reasons why you 
should cease to love her now. You owe it to her to 
cease to love her.” 

I looked steadily into the face of the Mother Su- 
perior. 

“You promise me that you will do that?” she said, 
with a smile upon her lips and a light in her eyes 
which might have won over almost any man to do 
almost anything. “You promise me that you will 
allow our young sister, who has hardships enough to 
bear, without any more being thrust upon her, to try 
to be happy in the way she has chosen, and that you 
will try to be happy in the way you should have 
chosen, that you will go out into the world and act 
your part in life, that you will look upon this affair 
as something which has vanished into the past, and 
that you will say to your heart, ‘You are free, if 
not by my will, by the irresistible force of circum- 
stances 7 ? 77 

I looked at her a few moments in silence, and then 
answered very quietly, “I shall do nothing of the 
kind . 77 


255 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

She gave her head a little toss and stepped back- 
ward, and then with a half-laugh which seemed to 
indicate an amused hopelessness she said: “You are 
utterly impracticable, and I am certain I do not 
know what is to be done about it. But I see that the 
boy has returned with the horse, and I must continue 
my journey. I am going to the Iron Furnace to see a 
sick woman. I wish you would think of what I have 
said, and remember that it was spoken from the depth 
of my soul. And do not think,” she continued, as I 
turned and accompanied her toward the carriage, 
“that I do not appreciate the state of your feelings. 
I understand them thoroughly, and I sympathize with 
you as perhaps only a woman can sympathize. But 
still I say to you that there are some things in this 
world which we must give up, and which we ought 
to give up promptly and willingly.” 

“Do you think,” said I, “that if Sylvia were to learn 
type- writing there would be any objection to her 
copying manuscript for me ? ” 

Mother Anastasia burst into a laugh. “You ought 
to be ashamed of yourself for making a person of my 
position behave so giddily in the presence of a hack- 
driver.” 

We now reached the carriage, and I assisted her to 
enter it. 

“Good morning,” she said, her face still perturbed 
by her suddenly checked merriment, “and do not 
forget the counsels I have given you.” 

I bowed and stepped back, but the driver did not 
start. He sat for a moment irresolute, and then, 
turning toward Mother Anastasia, asked, “Shall I 
wait for the other sister ? ” 


256 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Oh, go on ! ” cried the Mother Superior. “ There 
is no other sister.” 

The boy, startled by her tone, gave his horse a cut, 
and the equipage rattled away. I walked slowly 
homeward, meditating earnestly upon Mother Anas- 
tasia’s words and upon Mother Anastasia. 


257 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


A SOUL- WHISPER? 

My meditations upon the Mother Superior of the 
House of Martha were not concluded during my 
homeward walk. The subject occupied my mind for 
the greater part of the rest of the day. I do not call 
myself a philosopher, but I am in the habit of looking 
into the nature and import of what happens about 
me. My reflections on Mother Anastasia gradually 
produced in me the conviction that there was some- 
thing more in her words, her manner, and her actions 
than would appear to the ordinary observer. 

In considering this matter, I went back to the very 
first of my intercourse with this beautiful woman, 
who, divested of the dismal disguise of her sisterhood, 
had produced upon my memory an impression which 
was so strong that, whenever I now thought of Mother 
Anastasia, she appeared before my mental vision in a 
white dress, a broad hat, and with a bunch of flowers 
in her belt. In the character of a beautiful and sen- 
sible woman, and not at all in that of a mother supe- 
rior, she had warmly commended my suit of Sylvia 
Raynor. With our regard for Sylvia as a basis, we 
had consulted, we had confided, we had shown our- 
258 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


selves to each other in a most frank and friendly 
manner. 

Suddenly she had changed,— she had deserted me 
without a word of explanation,— and the next time I 
saw her she was totally opposed to my maintaining 
any connection whatever with Sylvia. 

But there had been more than this. This woman, 
beautiful even in her gray garb, had shown an in- 
creasing interest in the subject, which could not be 
altogether explained by her interest in Sylvia. If 
she truly believed that that young sister would de- 
vote her life to the service of the House of Martha, 
that matter might be considered as settled, and what 
was her object in so earnestly endeavoring to impress 
upon my mind the fact that I could not marry Sylvia ? 
It might be supposed that, in the ordinary course of 
events, I should be compelled to admit this point. 
But not only did she continually bring up this view 
of the subject, but she showed such a growing interest 
in me and my welfare that it made me uneasy. 

It is almost impossible truly to understand a woman. 
Most men will admit this. I could not say that I 
understood Mother Anastasia. At times I hoped I 
did not understand her. From what I knew of the 
constitution of the sisterhood, some of its members 
were vowed to it for life, and others for a stated 
period. Putting together this and that which Mother 
Anastasia had said to me about the organization, it 
did not appear to me that she felt that devotion to it 
which a sister for life would naturally feel. She had 
used all the art of a logician to impress upon me the 
conviction that Sylvia was a life sister, and could be 
nothing else. Was it possible— I scarcely dared to 
259 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


ask myself the question— that she had used the arts of 
a woman to intimate to me that she might be some- 
thing else I It did not cross my mind for an instant 
that anything that Mother Anastasia had said to me, 
or anything that could be deduced from her manner, 
was in the slightest degree out of the way. A woman 
has a right to indicate her position in regard to a 
fellow-being, and in this age she generally does indi- 
cate it. If the true nature of Mother Anastasia had 
so far exerted itself as to impel her, perhaps involun- 
tarily, to let me know that she was as much a woman 
as she was a mother superior, and that in time she 
would be all of the first and not any of the latter, she 
had truly done this with a delicate ingenuousness be- 
yond compare. It had not been the exhalation by 
the flower of inviting perfume, or its show of color : it 
had been the simple opening of the blossom to the 
free sun and air before my eyes. 

My last interview with Mother Anastasia had crys- 
tallized in my mind a mist of suppositions and fancies 
which had vaguely floated there for some time. It is 
not surprising that I was greatly moved at the form 
the crystal took. 

When Walkirk came the next day to make his 
usual reports, I talked to him of Mother Anastasia. 
Of course, I did not intimate to him how I had been 
thinking of her, but I gave him as many facts as pos- 
sible, in order that I might discover what he would 
think of her. When I had finished my account of the 
interview of the morning before, I could see that a 
very decided impression had been made upon him. His 
countenance twitched, he smiled, he looked upon the 
floor. For a moment I thought he was going to laugh. 

260 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“This amuses you/ 7 I remarked. 

“Yes/ 7 he replied, his face having recovered its 
ordinary composure, “it is a little funny. Mother 
Anastasia seems to he a good deal of a manager. 77 

“Yes/ 7 1 said, reflectively, “that is true. It is quite 
plain that, perceiving an opportunity of a private 
conference with me, she took advantage of the cir- 
cumstances. We could have had an ordinary chat 
just as well in one place as another, hut it was easy 
to see that she did not wish the hoy who was unhitch- 
ing the horse to hear even the first words of our con- 
versation. As you say, she is a good manager, and I 
had my suspicions of that before you mentioned it. 77 
As I said this I could not help smiling, as I thought 
how surprised he would be if he knew in what direc- 
tion my suspicions pointed. “Do you know/ 7 I con- 
tinued, “if it is necessary that the head of a sisterhood 
should be a life member of it ? 77 

“I have never heard/ 7 he answered. “But I have 
been informed that the organization of the House of 
Martha is a very independent one, and does not at- 
tempt to conform itself to that of any other sisterhood. 
The women who founded it had ideas of their own, 
and what rules and laws they made I do not know. 77 

For a few moments I walked up and down the 
room, then I asked : “How did Mother Anastasia 
come to be the Mother Superior? 77 

“I have been told/ 7 said Walkirk, “that she gave 
most of the money for the founding of the institution, 
and it was natural enough that she should be placed 
at the head. I have an idea that she would not have 
been willing to enter the house except as its head. 77 

“It is about four years since it was established, is 
261 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

it not?” I asked, and Walkirk assured me that I was 
correct. 

All this information ranged itself on the side of 
conviction. She was just the woman to try a thing 
of this kind for a stated time, she was just the woman 
not to like it, and she was just the woman whose soul 
could not be prevented from whispering that the 
gates of the bright world were opening before her. 
But why should her soul whisper this to me? The 
whole matter troubled me very much. 

I determined not to base any action upon what had 
thus forced itself upon my mind. I would wait. I 
would see what would happen next. I would persist 
in my determination never to give up Sylvia. And I 
will mention that there was a little point in connec- 
tion with her which at this time greatly annoyed me : 
whenever I thought of her, she appeared before me 
in the gray dress of a sister, and not as I had seen her 
on the island. I wished very much that this were not 
the case. 


262 


CHAPTER XL 


AN INSPIRATION 

I now found myself in an embarrassing situation. 
All my plans and hopes of tidings from Sylvia, or of 
any possible connection with her, were based upon 
Mother Anastasia. But would it be wise for me to 
continue my very friendly relations with the Mother 
Superior ? On my side, these relations were extremely 
pleasant, though that did not matter one way or 
another. But would it be kind and just to her to 
meet with her on the footing I had enjoyed? In 
every point of this affair I wished to be honorable 
and considerate. Acting on these principles, I went 
away for two weeks. It was very hard for me to 
absent myself for so long a period from Arden, but it 
was my duty. To take the chances of another meeting 
with Mother Anastasia, following close upon the recent 
one, which had made so forcible an impression upon 
me, would be imprudent. A moderate absence might 
be of great advantage. 

On my return, I took to strolling about the village, 
especially in the neighborhood of the House of Mar- 
tha, and if in these strolls I had met the Mother 
Superior, I should not have hesitated to accost her 
263 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


and ask news of Sylvia. For more reasons than one 
I felt it was highly desirable that I should impress it 
on the mind of Mother Anastasia that my interest in 
Sylvia had not in the least abated. 

But several days passed, and I met no one clad in 
gray bonnet and gown. I was disappointed. There 
were a good many questions about Sylvia which I 
wished to ask, and a good many things in regard to 
her that I wished to say. I might go to the House 
of Martha and boldly ask to see the Mother Superior, 
but a step like that might produce an undesirable 
impression, and, naturally, the position in which I had 
placed myself regarding Sylvia would prevent my 
going to visit Mother Anastasia. 

As I could do nothing for myself in this matter, I 
must ask some one to help me, and there was no one 
so willing and able to do this as my grandmother. 
She could go to the House of Martha and ask what 
questions she pleased. I went to the dear old lady 
and made known my desires. She laid down her 
knitting and gave me her whole attention. 

“Now, tell me exactly what it is you want,” she said. 
“You cannot expect to be asked to take tea with 
the sisters, you know, though I see no reason why you 
should not. Say what they will, they are not nuns.” 

“What I want,” I replied, “is to know how Sylvia 
is, what she is doing, all about her. I do not even 
know that she is still there.” 

“My dear boy,” said my grandmother, very tenderly, 
“I suppose that, even if you are obliged to give up all 
hope of ever having Sylvia for your own, you will 
want to know every day for the rest of your life just 
how she is getting on.” 


264 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Yes,” I answered, “that is true.” 

“Poor fellow ! ” said the old lady, her eyes a little 
dimmed as she spoke, “the fates have not been using 
you well. Is there anything else you want me to in- 
quire about?” 

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “I take a great interest in 
the institution.” 

“Which is natural enough, since Sylvia is there,” 
interpolated my grandmother. 

“And I should be glad,” I continued, “to know 
anything of interest regarding the sisterhood, from 
the Mother Superior down.” 

“Mother Anastasia is a very fine woman,” said my 
grandmother, “and I should think you would be likely 
to be greatly interested in her. I am going to make 
some inquiries about the rules of the House of Martha. 
I see no reason why the sisters should not occasionally 
accept invitations to tea.” 

This remark startled me, and I was prompted to 
make a cautionary observation. But I restrained 
myself,— in cases like this, interference would be likely 
to provoke comment,— and, by my grandmother’s de- 
sire, I went to order the carriage. 

In less than an hour she returned. I was promptly 
at hand to receive her report. 

“Well,” said she, “I have visited the sisters, but I 
am sorry I did not see Mother Anastasia. She was 
away.” 

“Away ! ” I exclaimed. “Where has she gone? ” 

“She went to Washington more than a week ago,” 
was the answer. 

“For a long stay?” I asked quickly. 

“The sisters did not know,” continued my grand- 
265 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


mother, “but their impression is that she will return 
in a few days.” 

I knitted my brows. 

“You are disappointed, and so am I. I intended to 
ask her here to tea next Friday, and to urge her, if 
she did not too greatly object, to bring Sylvia with 
her. There is nothing like quiet intercourse of that 
kind to break down obstacles.” 

“Alas ! ” I said, “I am afraid there are obstacles—” 

“But do not let us talk about them,” she inter- 
rupted. “Nobody knows what will happen, and let 
us be as happy as we can.” 

“Did you see Sylvia? ” I asked. 

“Oh, yes,” she answered, “and I had some talk with 
her, but it did not amount to much. She is trying to 
make a regular nun of herself,— that is, if a Protestant 
can be a nun,— but I do not think she will ever suc- 
ceed. She admitted that she greatly disliked the 
ordinary work of the sisters, and wished to employ 
herself in some way which would be just as lucrative 
to the institution, and yet not so repugnant to her. 
Now, you can see for yourself that that will not do. 
If she intends to be a sister of the House of Mar- 
tha, she must do as the other sisters do. She cannot 
always expect to be an exception. At present she is 
learning type-writing.” 

I gave a great start. “Type- writing ! ” I exclaimed. 

“Yes,” said my grandmother. “Is it not odd that 
she should have taken up that? She has a machine, 
and practises steadily on it. She showed me some of 
her printed sheets, and I must say, so far as I am con- 
cerned, that I should prefer plain handwriting, where 
the letters are not so likely to get on top of one an- 
266 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


other. She wanted to know if I could give her any 
advice about getting work, when she thought she 
could do it well enough, but, of course, I know nothing 
about such things. My hope is that she will get to 
dislike that as much as she does nursing and apothe- 
cary work, and to find out that her real duty is to 
live like an ordinary human being, and so make her- 
self and other people truly happy.” 

I do not know that there is any inherent connection 
between a type-writing machine and the emotions and 
sentiments of love, but in this case such a connection 
instantly established itself in my mind. It seemed 
plain to me that Walkirk’s suggestion to Sylvia had 
taken root. And why did she wish to type-write, if 
she did not wish to type- write for me? Was this an 
endeavor of her tender heart to keep up a thread of 
connection with me which should not be inconsistent 
with the duties, the vows, and the purposes of her 
life ? Dear girl ! If the thing could be managed, 
she should type -write for me as much as she wished, 
even if she piled the letters on one another as high as 
the Great Pyramid. 

With much enthusiasm, I communicated to Wal- 
kirk my intention to employ Sylvia in type-writing, 
and requested his assistance in regard to the details 
of the business. I could easily furnish her material 
enough. I had lots of things I should like to have 
copied, and I was ready to prepare a great deal more. 
My understudy made no allusion to my previous 
reception of his suggestion about type-writing, but 
brought his practical mind to bear upon the matter, 
and advised that preliminary arrangements should be 
made immediately. In a case like this, it was well to 
267 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


be in time, and to secure the services of Miss Raynor 
at once. I agreed with Walkirk that it was very 
wise to take time by the forelock, but Mother Anas- 
tasia was the only person who could properly regulate 
this affair, which should be instantly laid before her, 
and, as it was impossible to find out when she would 
return to Arden, I felt that it was my duty to go to 
her. When I mentioned this plan to Walkirk, he 
offered to go in my place, but I declined. This was a 
very delicate affair, to which no one could attend as 
well as I could myself. 

“Walkirk,” said I, “do you suppose that the Mother 
Superior will appear in Washington under her real 
name, or as Mother Anastasia? And, by the way, 
what is her real name?” 

“Is it possible,” exclaimed Walkirk, “that you do 
not know it? It is Raynor— Miss Marcia Raynor. 
She is a cousin of the younger lady.” 

“Oh, yes, I know that,” I replied. “But it never 
occurred to me to inquire what name Mother Anastasia 
bore before she entered the House of Martha. The 
first thing for me to do is to get her Washington 
address.” 

“ And may I ask,” continued Walkirk, “how you 
are going to do that?” 

I was not prepared to give an immediate answer to 
this question. 

“I suppose,” I remarked presently, “that it would 
not do to ask for the address at the House of Martha, 
but I could go to Sylvia’s mother. I should like to call 
there anyway, and I have no doubt she would know 
where Mother Anastasia would be likely to stop.” 

268 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


My understudy shook his head. “ Pardon me / 7 he 
said, “but I do not think it would be wise to go to 
Mrs. Raynor. She would be sure to connect her 
daughter with your urgent desire to see Mother 
Anastasia, and she would not hesitate to question you 
on the matter. I think I understand her disposition 
in regard to you and Miss Raynor, and I am very 
certain that when she heard of the type-writing 
scheme she would instantly put her foot on it. And 
if I am not mistaken , 77 he continued, with a noticeable 
deference in his tone, “that is the only reason you 
can give for your wish to confer with Mother Anas- 
tasia . 77 

I strode impatiently up and down the room. “Cer- 
tainly it is , 77 said I, “and although it is reason enough, 
I suppose you are right, and it would not do to offer 
it to Mrs. Raynor ; and for the matter of that, Mother 
Anastasia may think it a very little thing to take me 
down to Washington . 77 

“I had thought of that , 77 said Walkirk, “and that 
was one reason why I proposed to go in your stead . 77 

I made no answer to this remark. My mind was 
filled with annoying reflections about the unreason- 
ableness of people who insist upon knowing peopled 
reasons for doing things, and my annoyance was in- 
creased by the conviction, now that I looked more 
closely into the matter, that the only reason I could 
give for hastening after Mother Anastasia in this way 
was, indeed, a very little one. 

“Walkirk , 77 I exclaimed, “can’t you think of some 
other reason for my seeing the Mother Superior with- 
out delay ? 77 


269 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Truly,” he replied, smiling, “it is rather difficult. 
You might offer to build an annex to the House of 
Martha, but such a matter could surely wait until the 
return of the Mother Superior.” 

I sniffed, and continued to stride. I must see 
Mother Anastasia in Washington, because there I 
might have a chance of speaking to her freely, which 
I could not expect to have anywhere else. And yet, 
how was I going to explain to her, or to any one else, 
my desire to speak with her at all? It might have 
been difficult to explain this to myself. At all events, 
I did not try to do it. Suddenly an idea struck me. 
“Annex ! ” I cried. “Capital ! ” 

“My dear sir,” said Walkirk,- rising in much agita- 
tion, “I hope you do not think that I seriously pro- 
posed your building an annex to—” 

“Building!” I interrupted. “Nonsense! The 
annex I am thinking of is quite different— and yet, 
not altogether so, either. Walkirk, don’t you think 
that a man in my position could do a great deal to 
help those sisters in their good work? Don’t you 
think that he could act as an outside collaborator? 
I am sure there are many things he could do which 
might not be suitable for them to do, or which they 
might not want to do. For instance, this business that 
has taken Mother Anastasia to Washington. Per- 
haps it is something that she hates to do, and that 
I might have done as well as not. I have a mind to 
propose to her to go in and take all this sort of thing 
off the hands of the sisters. I think that is a good, 
practical idea, and it is very natural that I should 
wish to propose it to her at the very time she is 
engaged in this outside business.” 

270 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“In a word/’ remarked Walkirk, “you would make 
yourself a brother of the House of Martha.” 

I laughed. “That is not a bad notion/’ I said. “In 
fact, it is a very good one. I do not know that I shall 
put the matter exactly in that light, but a brother of 
the House of Martha is what I should like to be. 
Then I should be free to discuss all sorts of things, 
and to do all sorts of things. And I could be of a lot 
of service, I am sure. But I shall approach the 
matter cautiously. I shall begin with a simple offer 
of service, and perhaps, for the present, I may drop 
the type- writing plan. How for Mother Anastasia’s 
address. I must get that without delay.” 

Walkirk did not seem to have paid attention to 
this last remark. His mind appeared occupied with 
amusing reflections. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said, in apologizing for his 
abstraction, “but I was thinking what a funny thing 
it would be to be a brother of the House of Martha. 
As to the address— let me see. Do you remember 
that lady who was staying with Mrs. Raynor, at her 
island, who called herself a Person— Miss Laniston?” 

“Of course I remember her,” I answered, “and with 
the greatest disgust.” 

“I happen to know her address,” said Walkirk, 
“and I think she is more likely to give you the in- 
formation you want than Mrs. Raynor. If you do 
not care to confer with her, I can go to the city—” 

“Ho, no, no ! ” I exclaimed. “She might object to 
giving you the address. I shall insist that she give 
it to me. I think I can manage the matter. She 
owes me something, and she knows it.” 

In fact, I did not care to trust Walkirk with this 
271 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


affair. It was plain that he did not thoroughly sym- 
pathize with me in the project. I was afraid he 
might make a blunder, or in some way fail me. Any- 
way, this was a matter which I wished to attend to 
myself. 


272 


CHAPTER XLI 


MISS LANISTON 

At eight o’clock that evening I was at the house of 
Miss Laniston. The lady was at home, and received 
me. She advanced with both hands extended. 

“ Truly,” she cried, “this is the most charming 
instance of masculine forgiveness I have ever wit- 
nessed ! ” 

I took one of her hands— this much for the sake of 
policy. “Madam,” I said, “I am not thinking of for- 
giveness, or unforgiveness. I am here to ask a favor, 
and, if you grant it, I am willing that it shall coun- 
terbalance everything between us which suggests 
forgiveness.” 

“Dear me ! ” she exclaimed, leading the way to a 
sofa. “Sit down, and let me know my opportunities.” 

I did not want to sit down, but, as I said before, I 
felt that I must be politic, and so took a seat on the 
other end of the sofa. 

“My errand is a very simple one,” I said. “I 
merely want to know the address of Mother Anastasia, 
in Washington.” 

The lady folded her hands in her lap, and looked at 
me steadily. 


273 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Very simple, indeed,” slie said. “Why do you 
come to me for this address'? Would not the sisters 
give it to you?” 

“For various reasons, I did not care to ask them,” I 
replied. 

“One of them being, I suppose, that you knew you 
would not get it.” 

I did not reply to this remark. 

“If you know the address,” I inquired, “will you 
kindly give it to me ? It is necessary that I should 
have it at once.” 

“To telegraph? ” she asked. 

“No, I am going to her.” 

“Oh ! ” ejaculated the lady, and there was a pause 
in the conversation. “It does not strike me,” she 
said presently, “that I have any authority to tell 
gentlemen where to find Mother Anastasia, but I can 
telegraph and ask her if she is willing that I shall 
send you to her.” 

This proposition did not suit me at all. I was quite 
sure that the Mother Superior would not consider it 
advisable that I should come to her, and would ask 
me to postpone my communication until she should 
return to Arden. But Arden, as I had found, would 
be a very poor place for the long and earnest inter- 
view which I desired. 

“That would not do,” I answered. “She would not 
understand. I wish to see her on an important matter, 
which can be explained only in a personal interview.” 

“You excite my curiosity,” said Miss Laniston. 
“Why don’t you make me your confidante? In that 
case, I might decide whether, or not, it would be 
proper to give you the address.” 

274 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Impossible,” I said— “that would be impossible.” 

Miss Laniston’s eyes were of a blue-gray, and very 
fine ones, and she fixed them upon me with a lively 
intentness. 

“Do you still hope,” she asked, “to marry Sylvia 
Raynor ? Surely you must know that is impossible. 
She is now a member, for life, of the sisterhood.” 

“I know all that,” I replied impatiently. “It is 
not about that matter that I wish to see the Mother 
Superior.” 

“Is it, then, about Mother Anastasia herself? Do 
you wish to marry her ? ” 

I sprang to my feet in my excitement. “Why do 
you speak to me in that way,” I exclaimed, “and 
about a woman who is at the head of a religious 
institution, and whose earthly existence is devoted 
to it?” 

“Not at all,” quietly answered the lady. “Mother 
Anastasia is not a life member of the sisterhood of the 
House of Martha.” 

At these words, my blood began to boil within me 
in a manner which I could not comprehend. My 
eyeballs seemed to burn, as I stood and gazed speech- 
lessly at my companion. 

“You take such an interest in these sisters,” she 
said, “that I supposed you knew that Mother Anas- 
tasia joined the sisterhood only for a term of years, 
now nearly expired. She was made Mother Superior 
because those who helped form the institution knew 
that no one else could so well fill the place, especially 
during its first years. I was one of those persons.” 

I do not remember a time when my mind was in 
such a state of ungovernable emotion. Not only was 
275 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I unable to control my feelings, but I did not know 
what they were. One thing only could I compre- 
hend : I must remove this impression from the mind 
of Miss Laniston, and I could think of no other way 
of doing it than to confide to her the business on 
which I wished to see Mother Anastasia. I reseated 
myself on the sofa, and, without delay or preface, I laid 
before her my plan of collaboration with the sisters of 
the House of Martha— explaining how much better a 
man could attend to certain outside business than the 
sisters could do it, and showing how, in a manner, I 
proposed to become a brother of the House of Martha. 
Thus only could I defend myself against her irrational 
and agitating suppositions. 

She heard me to the end, and then she leaned back 
on the sofa and laughed— laughed until I thought the 
people in the street must hear her. I was hurt, but 
said nothing. 

“You must excuse me,” she said, when she was able 
to speak, “but this is so sudden, my mind is not pre- 
pared for it. And so you wish to become a brother 
of the House of Martha! I would be solemn about 
it, if I could, but really I cannot.” And again she 
laughed. 

I was about to retire, but she checked me. 

“Ho not go,” she said. “Ho not be angry. Forget 
that I laughed. Now, perhaps I can help you. I will 
make you a promise. If you will agree faithfully to 
tell me how Mother Anastasia receives your proposi- 
tion, I will give you her address.” 

“Promise ! ” I said severely. “You may remember 
that this is not the first time you have made me a 
promise.” 


276 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“ Don’t bring up that old affair ! ” she exclaimed. 
“What I did then could not be helped. When we 
had our talk about the sister with whom you had 
fallen in love, I had no idea she was Sylvia Raynor, 
the daughter of my hostess. When I discovered the 
truth, I had to drop the whole affair. Any person of 
honor would have done that. I could not help its 
being funny, you know.” 

I had become calmer, and was able to be politic again. 

“If Mother Anastasia will allow me,” I said, “I am 
willing to promise to tell you what she thinks of my 
plan.” 

“Very good,” she replied, “it is a bargain. She is 
stopping with a friend, Mrs. Gardley, at 906 Alaska 
Avenue. I address her as ‘Miss Raynor/ because I 
always do that when I have a chance, but I think it 
will be well for you to ask for Mother Anastasia/’ 

I arose, and she followed my example. 

“Now, then,” said she, “we are friends,” and her 
sparkling eyes seemed to have communicated their 
merriment to the gems upon the white hand which 
she held out to me. 

I took the hand, and, as I did so, a politic idea 
flashed up within me. If I must be friends with this 
woman, why not make use of her? This was a mo- 
ment when she was well disposed to serve me. 

“If you are willing to consider me a friend,” I re- 
plied, still holding her hand, “you will not refuse to 
tell me something which I have long wanted to know, 
and which I ought to know.” 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“What was the trouble which caused Sylvia Raynor 
to enter the House of Martha ? ” 


277 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


She withdrew her hand and reflected for a moment. 

“Man is an inquisitive animal/’ she answered, “but 
we cannot alter his nature, and there is some excuse 
for your wanting to know all about Sylvia. She is 
out of your reach, of course, but you have certainly 
taken as much interest in her as a man can take in a 
woman. The matter is not a close secret, and I sup- 
pose I may as well tell you that the cause of her en- 
tering the sisterhood was nothing at all out of the 
common. It was simply a thwarted love-affair. You 
don’t like that, I can see by your face.” 

“No, I do not like it, and I am very sorry to hear 
it.” 

“My dear sir,” said she, “you must be early on hand, 
and prompt in action, to be No. 1 with a girl like Syl- 
via. But then, you know, a No. 1 seldom counts. In 
this case, however, he did count, for he made a No. 2 
impossible.” 

“Not so ! ” I cried hotly. “I am No. 2, and shall 
always continue so.” 

She laughed. “I am afraid,” she said, “that it will 
be necessary for a brother of the House of Martha to 
get rid of that sort of feeling.” 

“How was she thwarted?” I asked quickly. 

“The story is briefly this,” replied Miss Laniston : 
“A certain gentleman courted Sylvia’s cousin, and 
everybody supposed they would be married. But, in 
some way or other, he treated her badly, and the 
match was broken off. Then, a few years later, this 
same person fell in love with Sylvia, who knew noth- 
ing of the previous affair. The young girl found 
him a most attractive lover, and he surely would have 
won her had not her mother stepped in and put an 
278 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


extinguisher upon the whole affair. She knew what 
had happened before, and would not have the man in 
her family. Then it was that Sylvia found the world 
a blank, and concluded to enter the sisterhood.” 

“Do you mean,” I asked, “that the cousin with 
whom the man was first in love was Marcia Raynor 
—Mother Anastasia?” 

“Yes,” answered Miss Laniston, “it was she. You 
do not like that?” 

Like it ! A cold and tingling pain ran through my 
body, and there sprang up in me an emotion of the 
intensest hatred for a person whom I had never seen. 

My feelings were such as I could not express. The 
situation was one which I could not discuss. I took 
leave of Miss Laniston without giving sufficient con- 
sideration to her expression of countenance and to her 
final words now to be able to say whether they indi- 
cated amusement or sympathy. 


279 


CHAPTER XLII 


THE MOTHER SUPERIOR 

Seldom, I think, has a berth in a sleeping-car held a 
more turbulent- minded man than I was during my 
journey from New York to Washington. The revela- 
tion that the same man had loved and been loved by 
Mother Anastasia and by Sylvia had disquieted me in 
a manner not easy to explain, but I knew that I was 
being torn by jealousy, and jealousy is a passion which 
it is sometimes impossible to explain. 

An idea which came into my mind in the night in- 
creased the storm within me. I imagined that the 
wretch who had made suit to both Marcia and Sylvia 
was Walkirk. He knew a good deal about these 
women— sometimes I was surprised to discover how 
much he knew. Perhaps now, acting in a base dis : 
guise, he was endeavoring to make of me a stepping- 
stone to his ultimate success with one or the other. 
Hound ! I would crush him ! 

My thoughts ran rapidly backward. I remem- 
bered how zealous he had been in following Mrs. 
Raynor’s yacht. He had told me of his conversations 
with Sylvia, but what reason had I to believe he 
spoke the truth? That any man should have loved 
280 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


these two women filled me with rage. That that man 
should be Walkirk was an insupportable thought. I 
was not only jealous, but I felt myself the victim of a 
treacherous insult. 

It was seven o’clock when I reached Washington, 
but, although I had arrived at my destination, I could 
give no thought to the object of my journey until I 
had discovered the truth about Walkirk. That was 
all-important. 

But of whom should I inquire? I could think of 
no one but Miss Laniston. I had been a fool not to 
ask her the name of the man when I was with her. 
But I would telegraph to her now, and ask for it. She 
might be asleep at that hour, but I believed she was a 
woman who would awake and answer my question, 
and then go to sleep again. 

I immediately went to the telegraph office, and 
sent this message : 

“ What is the name of the man of whom we spoke last 
evening? It is necessary that I know it. Please answer 
at once.” 

She would understand this. We had spoken of but 
one man. 

For nearly an hour I walked the floor and tossed 
over the morning papers, and then came the answer 
to my message. It was this : 

4 * Brownson. He is dead. ’ 9 

There is a quality in the air of Washington which 
is always delightful to me, but I think it has never 
affected me as it did that morning. As I breathed it, 
it exhilarated me, it cheered and elated me, it rose- 
281 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


tinted my emotions, it gave me an appetite for my 
breakfast, it made me feel ready for any enterprise. 

As soon as I thought it proper to make a morning 
call, I went to No. 906 Alaska Avenue. There I 
found a large and handsome house, of that indepen- 
dent and highly commendable style of architecture 
which characterizes many of the houses of Washing- 
ton. I had not yet made up my mind whether I 
should inquire for Mother Anastasia or Miss Eaynor. 
I did not know the custom of mother superiors when 
travelling or visiting, and I determined, as I ascended 
the steps, to be guided in this matter by the aspect 
of the person who opened the door. 

It has always been interesting to me to study the 
character, as well as I can do so in the brief oppor- 
tunity generally afforded, of the servants who open to 
me the doors of houses. To a certain degree, although, 
of course, it does not do to apply this rule too rigidly, 
these persons indicate the characters of the dwellers 
in the house. My friends have disputed this point 
with me, and have asserted that they do not wish to 
be so represented, but, nevertheless, I have frequently 
found my position correct. 

I prefer to visit those houses whose door service is 
performed by a neat, good-looking, intelligent, bright- 
witted, kindly tempered, conscientious, and sympa- 
thetic maid-servant. A man is generally very unsat- 
isfactory. He performs his duty in a perfunctory 
manner. His heart is not in it. He fears to say a 
word more than he thinks absolutely necessary, lest 
you should imagine him new in service, and had not 
lost his interest in answering questions. 

But even if the person you ask for be not at home, 
282 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


it is sometimes a pleasure to be told so by an intelli- 
gent maid, such as I have mentioned above. One’s 
subsequent action is frequently influenced by her 
counsel and information. Frequently she is able to 
indicate to you your true relation with the household, 
sometimes she assists in establishing it. 

When the door before me opened, I saw a colored 
woman. I was utterly discomfited. None of my 
rules applied to a middle-aged colored woman, who 
gazed upon me as if she recognized me as one whom 
she carried in her arms when an infant. Actuated 
by impulse only, I inquired for “Miss Raynor.” 

“I reckon,” said she, “you’s got to de wrong house. 
Hat lady doan’ live hyar.” 

“Well, then,” I asked quickly, “is there a lady here 
named Mother Anastasia ? ” 

The woman showed thirty-two perfectly developed 
teeth. 

“Oh, dat’s she? You means de sister. She’s hyar 
—yes, sah. Want to see her?” 

I stated that I certainly desired to see her. 

“She’s gone out now, sah, an’ dere’s no tellin’ when 
dey’ll git back. Hey ginerally all gits back ’bout 
dark— commonly jist a little arter dark.” 

“Not return before dark ! ” I exclaimed. “That is 
bad. Can you give me any idea where I might find 
Mother Anastasia?” 

“I ’spects you kin fin’ her mighty easy. Mos’ likely 
she’s at de Patent Office, or at de Army an’ Navy 
Buildin’, or de White House, or de Treasury, or de 
Smifsonian, or de navy-yard, or de new ’Servatory, 
or on de avenue shoppin’, or gone to de Capitol to de 
Senate or de House, one. Or perhaps she druv out to 
283 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Arlington, or else she’s gone to de ’Gressional Libr’y. 
Mos’ likely she’s at one or de odder of dem places. 
An’ about one o’clock she an’ Mis’ Gardlev is mighty 
sure to eat der luncheon somewhar, an’ arter dat I 
reckon dey’ll go to ’bout four arternoon teas. I 
doan’ know ’xactly whar de teas’ll be dis arternoon, 
but ye kin tell de houses whar dar is a tea inside by 
de carriages a- waitin’, — an’ ef it ain’t a tea, it ’s a fun’- 
ral,— an’ all yer’s got to do is to go inside an’ see if 
she’s dar.” 

I could not refrain from smiling, but I was greatly 
discouraged. How could I wait until evening for the 
desired interview? 

“If you is kin to de sister,” said the woman,— “an’ 
I reckon you is, for I see de likeness pow’ful strong, 
—she’ll be mighty glad to see ye, sah. Want me to 
tell her ye’ll come back dis evenin’, if you doan’ fin’ 
her before dat?” 

I desired her to give such a message, and went 
away, well pleased that the woman had not asked my 
name. It was desirable that Mother Anastasia should 
not know who was coming to call on her. 

I am, as I have said before, much given to the con- 
sideration of motives and all that sort of thing, and, 
in the course of the day, I found myself wondering 
why I should have taken the trouble to walk through 
the Patent Office and half a dozen other public build- 
ings, continually looking about me, not at the objects 
of interest therein, but at the visitors— that is, if they 
were ladies. Why this uneasy desire to find the 
Mother Superior, when, by quietly waiting until 
evening, I was almost certain to see her? But in 
284 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


the midst of my self-questionings I went on looking 
for Mother Anastasia. 

I finished my long ramble by a visit to the gallery 
of the House of Representatives. A member was 
making a speech on a bill to establish a national 
medical college for women. The speech and the 
subject may have interested some people, but I did 
not care for either, and I am afraid I was a little 
drowsy. After a time I took a cab and went to my 
hotel. At all events, the long day of waiting was 
nearly over. 

Early in the evening I called again at Mrs. Gard- 
ley 7 s house, and, to my delight, I was informed that 
the lady I desired to see was at home. 

When Mother Anastasia came into the drawing- 
room, where I awaited her, she wore the gray gown 
of her sisterhood, but no head-covering. I had before 
discovered that a woman could be beautiful in a Mar- 
tha gown, but at this moment the fact asserted itself 
with peculiar force. She greeted me with a smile 
and an extended hand. 

“You do not seem surprised to see me / 7 I said. 

“Why should I be 1 ? 77 she answered. “I saw you in 
the House of Representatives, and wondered why you 
should doze when such an interesting matter was 
being discussed. And when I came home, and heard 
that a gentleman answering your description intended 
to call on me this evening, I declined to go out to the 
theatre, wishing to be here to receive you . 77 

I was disgusted to think that she had caught me 
napping, and that she had been near me in the House, 
and I had not known it. But I said nothing of this. 

285 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“You are very good/’ I remarked, “to give up the 
theatre—” 

“Oh, don’t thank me,” she interrupted. “Perhaps 
you will not think I am good. Before we say any- 
thing more, I want you to tell me whether or not you 
came here to talk about Sylvia Raynor.” 

Here was a blunt question, but, from the bottom of 
my heart, I believed that I answered truly when I said 
I had not come for that purpose. 

“Very good,” said Mother Anastasia, leaning back 
in her chair. “Row I can freely say that I am glad 
to see you. I was dreadfully afraid you had come to 
talk to me on that forbidden subject, and I must 
admit that this fear had a very powerful influence in 
keeping me at home this evening. If you had come 
to talk to me of her, I would have had something 
very important to say to you. But I am delighted that 
my fears were groundless. And now, tell me how you 
could help being interested in that grand scheme for a 
woman’s college.” 

“I have never given it any thought. Do you care 
for it?” 

“Care for it ! ” she exclaimed. “I am enlisted in 
the cause, hand and heart. I came down here because 
the bill was to be brought before the House. If the 
college is established,— and I believe it will be,— I 
expect to be one of the faculty.” 

“You are not a physician?” said I. 

“Oh, I have studied and practised medicine,” she 
answered, “and expect to do a great deal more of it 
before we begin operations. The physician’s art is 
my true vocation.” 

“And you will leave the House of Martha ? ” I asked. 

286 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“ Yes :,” she replied. “The period for which I en- 
tered it has nearly expired. I do not regret the time 
I have spent there, hut I must admit I shall he glad 
to leave the sisterhood. That life is too narrow for 
me, and perhaps too shallow. I say nothing against 
it in a general way ; I only speak of it as it relates to 
myself. The very manner in which I rejoice in the 
prospect of freedom proves to me that I ought to he 
free, and that I did a wise thing in limiting the term 
of my sisterhood.” 

As Mother Anastasia spoke there was a glow of 
earnest pleasure upon her face. She was truly very 
happy to be able to talk of her approaching freedom. 

I am a prudent man and a cautious one. This 
frank enthusiasm alarmed me. How deftly she had 
put Sylvia out of sight ! How skilfully she had 
brought herself into full view, free and untrammelled 
by vows and rules— a woman as other women ! 

The more I saw of Mother Anastasia, the better I 
liked her, but I perceived that she was a woman with 
whom it was very necessary to be cautious. She was 
apt, I thought, to make convictions of her presump- 
tions. If she presumed that my love for Sylvia was 
an utterly hopeless affection, to be given up and for- 
gotten, I did not like it. It might be that it was 
hopeless, but I did not care to have any one else 
settle the matter for me in that way— not even 
Mother Anastasia. 

“Of course,” I remarked, “I am glad that you have 
concluded to withdraw from a vocation which, I am 
sure, is not suited to you, and yet I feel a little disap- 
pointed to hear that you will not continue at the head 
of the House of Martha, for I came to Washington on 
287 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


purpose to make you a proposition in regard to that 
institution.” 

“Came to Washington on purpose to see me, and to 
make a proposition ! What can it possibly be ? ” 

I now laid before her, with considerable attention 
to detail, my plan for working in cooperation with 
the House of Martha. I showed her the advantages 
of the scheme as they had suggested themselves to me, 
and, as an example of what could be done, I mentioned 
Sylvia’s fancy for type-writing, and demonstrated 
how easily I could undertake the outside manage- 
ment of this very lucrative and pleasant occupation. 
I warmed up as I talked, and spoke quite strongly 
about what I— and perhaps, in time, other men— might 
do for the benefit of the sisterhood, if my proposition 
were accepted. 

She listened to me attentively, her face growing 
paler and harder as I proceeded. When I had fin- 
ished, she said : 

“It is not at all necessary for me to discuss this 
utterly preposterous scheme, nor even to refer to it, 
except to say that I plainly see its object. Whatever 
you have persuaded yourself to think of your plan, I 
know that its real object is to reestablish a connection 
with Sylvia. You would know, if you would allow 
yourself to think about it, that your absurd and even 
wicked scheme of type-writing, companionship in 
work, and all that stuff, could only result in making 
the girl miserable and perhaps breaking her heart. 
You know that she loves you, and that it has been a 
terrible trial to her to yield to her conscience and do 
what she has done, and you know, furthermore, — and 
this more than anything else darkens your intention, 
288 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


—that Sylvia’s artless, ingenuous, and impulsive na- 
ture would give you advantages which would not be 
afforded to you by one who did not love you, and 
who better understood the world and you.” 

“Madam,” I exclaimed, “you do me an injustice !” 

She paid no attention to this remark, and pro- 
ceeded : “And now, let me tell you that what you 
have said to me to-night has changed my plans— my 
life. I shall not leave Sylvia exposed to your cruel 
attacks— attacks which I believe will come in every 
practical form that your ingenuity can devise. It 
was my example that brought that girl into the House 
of Martha, and now that she has vowed to devote her 
life and her work to its service, I shall not desert her. 
I will not have her pure purpose shaken and weak- 
ened, little by little, day by day, until it falls listless 
and deadened, with nothing to take its place. There- 
fore, until I know that you are no longer a source of 
danger to her, I shall remain Mother Superior of the 
House of Martha, and you may rest assured that while 
I am in that position Sylvia shall be safe from you.” 

And with that, she rose and walked out of the room. 


289 


CHAPTER XLIII 

WAS HIS HEART TRUE TO POLL? 

Never before bad any one spoken to me as Mother 
Anastasia had just spoken. Never before had I felt 
as I felt in leaving the house where she had spoken 
to me. I did not admit all that she had said, and 
yet, not even to myself could I gainsay her statements. 
I was not convinced that I had been wrong, but I 
could not help feeling that she was right. I was 
angry, I was mortified, I was grieved. The world 
seemed cold and dark, and the coldest and darkest 
thing in it was the figure of Mother Anastasia, as she 
rose to leave me. 

When I reached New York, I bethought myself of 
my promise to Miss Laniston. It tortured my soul to 
think of what had happened. I knew it would torture 
it still more to talk of these things. But I am a man 
who keeps his promises. Besides, I wanted to see Miss 
Laniston. I did not like her very much, but the 
people whom I did like seemed to be falling away 
from me, and she was a woman of vigorous spirit, to 
whom one in my plight would naturally turn. That 
she could give me any encouragement was not likely, 
but she might offer me an enheartening sympathy, 
290 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


and, moreover, she was well acquainted with Mother 
Anastasia, and there were a good many questions I 
wanted to ask about that lady. 

I found Miss Laniston at home, but I was obliged 
to wait a good while before she made her appearance. 

“If you were any other man in this world,” she 
said, “I should have felt obliged to excuse myself from 
seeing you, for I am engaged on most important busi- 
ness with a modiste who is designing a gown for me. 
But I am perfectly wild to hear about your interview 
with Mother Anastasia, and I was afraid, if I sent you 
away, that you would not come back again. So tell 
me about it, I pray you. I know you have seen her, 
for you look so uncommonly glum. I am afraid that 
you have not yet become a brother of the House of 
Martha.” 

There was nothing inspiring about this badinage, 
but I braced myself to the work, and told her what 
had happened in Washington. 

“This is truly dreadful ! ” she declared. “Of course, 
I had no idea that Mother Anastasia would consider 
your plan as anything more than the wild outreach- 
ings of a baffled lover, but I did not imagine that she 
would take it in this way. This is very bad.” 

“It is,” I answered. “Everything is knocked from 
under me.” 

“Oh, bless you,” said the lady, “I wasn’t thinking 
of you, but of Mother Anastasia. It was the happiest 
news I can remember when I heard that she was soon 
to drop that name and all that belonged to it, and to 
begin a life in which she would be a woman among 
her peers, no matter with what sex they happen to be 
classed. But if she stops short and remains in that 
291 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


miserable House of Martha, the result is bound to be 
disastrous. If she believes it is necessary to spend 
her life in protecting Sylvia from your assaults, she is 
the woman to spend her life in that way.” 

“What her friends should do,” said I, “is to con- 
vince her that it is not necessary.” 

Miss Laniston gazed upon me fixedly. “You think 
it would be a great pity for a beautiful woman— a 
remarkably fine woman like Mother Anastasia— to 
hide herself away in that make-believe convent?” 

“Indeed, I do,” I answered, with animation. 

“And since one fine woman is shut up for life in 
that prison, you think it a shame that another one 
should remain within its walls ? ” 

I assented warmly. 

“How, then,” remarked Miss Laniston, rising, “it is 
absolutely necessary for me to go to the French- 
woman, who, I know, is fuming for me, and whose 
time is very precious. I shall be with you again in 
about twenty minutes, and during that time I wish 
you would make up your mind with whom you are in 
love— Mother Anastasia or Sylvia Kaynor. When 
that point is settled, we will see what can be done.” 

It was a man of a bewildered mind who was left 
alone in that drawing-room. I did not understand 
what had been said to me, but now that ideas of this 
kind had been put into words, there seemed to be a 
certain familiarity about them. How dared she speak 
to me in that way? What ground had she for such 
words? 

And yet— Sylvia was shut up for life in the House 
of Martha. I could not gainsay that. 

I could not put my thoughts into form, and, with 
292 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


my mind in chaos, I strode up and down the room 
until Miss Laniston returned. 

“What an uneasy person you are!” she said. 
“Have you settled that little point?” 

“Settled it ! There is nothing to settle.” 

She laughed. “I am not so sure about that. I 
thought I saw a change in the wind when you were 
here last, and it is natural enough that it should 
change. What is the good of its blowing steadfastly 
from the north, when the north is nothing but ice f ” 

“You have no right to talk in that way!” I ex- 
claimed angrily. “I utterly repudiate your suppo- 
sition.” 

“Come, come,” she said, “let us be practical. I 
really take an interest in you, you know, and, besides 
that, I take an interest in my friends, and it is quite 
plain to me that you must not be allowed to wander 
about in a detached way, making all sorts of trouble. 
You have made a good deal already. So if we must 
consider Sylvia Raynor as really out of the race, on 
account of being tied up by her sisterhood obligations, 
we must turn our attention to Mother Anastasia, who 
probably has not yet done anything definite in regard 
to retaining her position in the House of Martha. If 
anything can be done in this direction, it will be en- 
tirely satisfactory, because, if you get the ex-Mother 
Superior, of course you will be content to leave the 
young sister alone.” 

“Madam, you insult me ! ” I cried, springing to my 
feet. 

“By which, I suppose,” she answered, “you wish me 
to understand that your heart is true to Poll— by Poll 
meaning Sylvia Raynor.” 


293 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“You know that as well as I do,” I replied. “I 
have taken yon into my confidence, — I have told you 
that I loved her, that I should always love her,— and 
it is unwomanly in you—” 

“That will do,” she interrupted, “that will do. 
Don’t say hard words to one of your best friends. If 
you will continue to be true to Poll,— not as the sailor 
was in the song, but constant and steadfast in all sorts 
of weather, and without any regard to that mere ma- 
terial point of eventually getting her for your own,— 
why, then, I am your fast friend to the end, and will 
do everything that I can to soften your woes and 
lighten your pathway. And all the reward I desire for 
my labors is the pleasure of knowing that there is at 
least one man in the world who can love truly and 
unchangeably, without seeing any chance ahead of 
him of winning the woman he loves. Do you think 
you can fill that position? ” 

I looked at her sternly, and answered : “I have said 
all upon that point that is necessary to say. When I 
love a woman, I love her forever.” 

“Very good,” said Miss Laniston, “very good. 
And I dare say your little side-flights didn’t mean 
anything at all. And now I shall talk with Mother 
Anastasia as soon as possible, and make her under- 
stand that she has no right to sacrifice herself to Syl- 
via, or any one else. If I can get her started off on 
the right road, I will see what I can do with the new 
Mother Superior, whoever she may be. Perhaps you 
may yet be able to establish that delightful brother- 
hood of the House of Martha. Anyway, I promise 
you you shall have something. It may not be much, 
and it may not be often, but it shall be enough to 
294 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


keep your love alive, and that, you see, is my great 
object. I want to make of you a monument of mas- 
culine constancy.” 

As I took leave of her, Miss Laniston gave my hand 
a vigorous pressure, which seemed to me to indicate 
that her intentions were better than her words. As 
I went away my mind was quieter, though not cheered. 
There was in it a certain void and emptiness, but this 
was compensated for by a sense of self-approbation 
which was strengthening and comforting. I was even 
able to smile at the notion of the interview between 
Miss Laniston and Sister Sarah, when the former 
should propose my plan of the brotherhood. 


295 


CHAPTER XLIV 

PRELIMINARY BROTHERHOOD 

When I returned to Arden, I gave Walkirk an out- 
line of what had occurred, but I did not go into de- 
tails, having no desire that the preposterous idea 
which had gotten into the head of Miss Laniston 
should enter that of my understudy. Walkirk was 
not in good spirits. 

“I had hoped something,” he said, “from your in- 
terview with Mother Anastasia, though perhaps not 
exactly in the line of a brotherhood. I thought if 
she came to thoroughly understand your earnestness 
in the matter, she might use her influence with Miss 
Raynor, which, at some time or other, or in some way 
or other, might result to your advantage, and that of 
the young lady. I had, and still have, great belief in 
the capabilities of Mother Anastasia, but now I am 
forced to believe, very much against my will, that 
there is no hope ahead. With Mother Anastasia de- 
cidedly against us, the fight is lost.” 

“‘Us ! ’ ” I repeated. 

“My dear sir,” said he, “I am with you, soul and 
body.” 


296 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Without a word, I took him by the hand, and 
pressed it warmly. 

“What do you think of continuing your recitals of 
travel ?” Walkirk said to me, later in the day. “I 
should think they would interest you, and I know 
they were vastly interesting to me. You must have 
a great deal more to tell.” 

“I have,” I answered, “but I shall not tell it now. 
Instead of talking about travels, I have determined to 
travel. At present it is awkward for me to remain 
here. It is impossible for me to feel independent, and 
able to do what I please, and know that there are per- 
sons in the village who do not wish to meet me, and 
with whom it would be embarrassing and perhaps 
unpleasant to meet. I know I must meet them some 
time or other, unless they shut themselves up, or I 
shut myself up. That sort of thing I cannot endure, 
and I shall go to Turkey and Egypt. Those countries 
I have not visited. If it suits you, I shall take you with 
me, and I shall also take a stenographer, to whom I 
shall dictate, on the spot, the material for my book.” 

“Do you mean,” asked Walkirk, “that you will 
dispense altogether with that preparatory narration 
to me of what you intend afterwards to put into your 
book? I consider that a capital plan, and I think 
you found it of advantage.” 

“That is true,” I answered. “The plan worked 
admirably. I did not propose to work in that way 
again, but I will do it. Every night I will tell you 
what I have done, and what I think about things, and 
the next morning I’ll dictate that material, revised 
and shapen, to the stenographer, who can then have 
the rest of the day to write it out properly.” 

297 


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“A capital plan/’ said Walkirk, “and I shall be 
charmed to go with you.” 

I was, indeed, very anxious to leave Arden. I could 
not believe that Mother Anastasia had ever imagined 
any of the stuff that Miss Laniston had talked about, 
but she certainly had shown me that she was greatly 
offended with me, and nothing offends me so much as 
to have people offended with me. Such persons I do 
not wish to meet. 

I did not immediately fix a date for my departure, 
for it was necessary for me to consider my grand- 
mother’s feelings and welfare, and to arrange to make 
her as happy as possible while I should be gone. In 
the meantime, it was of course necessary that I 
should take air and exercise, and while doing this 
one morning in a pretty lane just out of the village, 
a figure in the House of Martha gray came into sight 
a little distance ahead of me. Her back was toward 
me, and she was walking slower than I was. “How, 
then,” thought I, “here is a proof of the awkwardness 
of my position here. Even in a little walk like this, 
I must run up against one of those sisters. I must 
pass her, or turn around and go back, for I shall not 
slow up and appear to be dogging her footsteps. But 
I shall not turn back— that does not suit me.” Con- 
sequently, I walked on, and soon overtook the woman 
in gray. She did not turn her head as I approached, 
for the sisters are taught not to turn their heads to 
look at people. After all, it would be easy enough 
for me to adopt the same rule, and to pass her without 
turning my head, or paying the slightest attention 
to her. This was the manner, indeed, in which the 
general public was expected to act toward the in- 
298 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


mates of the House of Martha when met outside their 
institution. 

When I came up with her, I turned and looked into 
the bonnet. It was Sylvia ! As my eyes fell upon the 
face of that startled angel, my impulse was to throw 
my arms around her, and rush away with her, gray 
bonnet, shawl, and all, to some distant clime where 
there were no Houses of Martha, Mother Anastasias, 
or anything which could separate my dear love and 
me. But I crushed down this mad fancy, smothered 
as well as I could my wild emotions, and said, as 
calmly as possible : 

“Good morning, sister.” 

Over the quick flushes of her face there spread a 
smile of pleasure. 

“I like that,” she said. “I am glad to have you 
call me sister. I thought you would be prejudiced 
against it, and would not do it.” 

“Prejudiced ! ” I said. “Not a bit of it. I am de- 
lighted to do so.” 

“That is really good of you,” she said. “And how 
have you been? You look a little wan and tired. 
Have you been doing your own writing?” 

“Oh, no,” I said. “I have given up writing— at 
least for the present. I wish I could make you under- 
stand how glad I am to call you sister, and how it 
would joy my heart if you would call me brother.” 

“Oh, that would not do at all,” she said, in a tone 
which indicated surprise at my ignorance. “That 
would be quite a different thing. I am a sister to 
everybody, but you are not a brother to anybody.” 

“When you hear what I have to say about this,” I 
answered, “you will understand what I mean by 
299 


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wishing to be called brother. May I ask where you 
are going ¥ ” 

“I am going to visit a sick person in that little 
house at the bottom of the hill. Sister Agatha came 
with me, but she had the toothache, and had to go 
back. I expect Sister Sarah will send some one of 
the others to join me, for she always wants us to go 
about in couples.” 

“She is entirely right,” said I. “I did not know 
she had so much sense. And I shall make one of the 
couple this time. You ought not to be walking 
about here by yourself.” 

“I suppose I ought to have gone back with Sister 
Agatha,” said she, “but I didn’t want to. I’m dread- 
fully tired of staying in the House of Martha, trying 
to learn type- writing. I can do it pretty well now, 
but nothing has come of it. Sister Sarah got me one 
piece of work, which was to copy a lot of bad manu- 
script about local option. I am sure, if I am to do 
that sort of thing, I shall not like type-writing.” 

“You shall not do that sort of thing,” said I. “And 
now, let us walk on slowly, while I tell you what I 
meant by the term ‘ brother.’” 

I was in a whirl of delight. How I would talk to 
one who, I believed, would sympathize with my every 
thought, who would be in harmony with my outreach- 
ings, if she could do no more, and from whom I need 
expect neither ridicule nor revilings. We walked on 
slowly, and I laid before her my scheme for the 
brotherhood of the House of Martha. 

I was not mistaken in my anticipation of Sylvia’s 
sympathy. She listened with sparkling eyes, and, 
when I finished, clapped her hands with delight. 

300 


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“That is one of the best plans that was ever heard 
of in this world/’ she said. “How different it would 
make our life at the institution ! Of course, the bro- 
thers wouldn’t live there, but we should see each 
other, like ordinary people in society, and every- 
thing would not be so dreadfully blank. And there is 
no end to the things which you could do, which we 
cannot do, unless with a great deal of trouble. The 
usefulness of your plan seems to have no limits at all. 
How many brothers do you think we ought to have ? ” 

“I have not considered that point,” I said. “At 
present I know of but one person, besides myself, who 
would have the necessary qualifications for the posi- 
tion.” 

“I expect,” she said, looking at me with a twinkle 
of fun in her eye, “that if you had the selection of 
the other brothers, they would be a tame lot.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” I said, and we both broke 
into a laugh. 

“I wish I could tell you,” said Sylvia, “how much 
I am charmed with your idea of the brotherhood. I 
haven’t enjoyed myself so much for ever so long.” 

We were now nearing the little house at the bottom 
of the hill. An idea struck me. 

“Who is it that you are going to visit? ” I asked. 

“It is an old man,” she said, “who has the rheuma- 
tism so badly that he cannot move. He has to take 
his medicine every hour, and his wife is worn out sit- 
ting up and giving it to him, and Sister Agatha and I 
were sent to take care of him during the morning, 
to let the poor old woman get some sleep.” 

“Very good,” said I. “Here is a chance for me to 
make a beginning in my scheme of brotherhood, and 
301 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


that without asking leave or license of anybody. I 
will go in with you and help you nurse the old man.” 

“I believe you can do it splendidly / 7 said Sylvia, 
“and now we can see how a brotherhood would work . 77 

We entered a little house, which apparently had 
once been a good enough home for humble dwellers, 
but which now showed signs of extreme poverty. A 
man with gray hair, and placid, pale face, was lying 
on a bed in one corner of the room into which the 
door opened, and in a chair near by sat an old woman, 
her head bobbing in an uneasy nap. She roused when 
we entered, and seemed glad to see us. 

“He’s about the same as he was , 77 she said, “an 7 as 
he 7 s loike to be wid thim little draps of midicine. 
But if you’re a docther, sir, it ain’t for me to be med- 
dlin’, an 7 sayin 7 that one of thim Pepper Pod Plasters 
width howles in it would do more good to his poor 
back than thim draps inside of him . 77 

“Rheumatism is not treated externally so much as 
it used to be , 77 I said. “You will find that internal 
medication will be of much more service in the long 
run . 77 

“That may be, sir , 77 said she, “but it won’t do to 
make the run too long, considtherin 7 he hasn’t been 
able to do a sthroke of work for four weeks, an 7 if ye’d 
ever tried one of thim plasters, sir, ye’d know they’s 
as warmin’ as sandpaper an 7 salt. But if I kin git a 
little slape, it will be better for me than any midicine, 
inside or out . 77 

“That’s what we came to give you , 77 said Sylvia. 
“Go into the other room and lie down, and you shall 
not be called until it is time for your dinner . 77 

The woman gave a little shrug, which, I imagine, 
302 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


was intended to indicate that dinner and dinner-time 
had not much relation to each other in this house, 
and going into an adjoining room, was probably soon 
fast asleep. 

“It would be better to begin by giving him his 
medicine. I know all about it, for I was here yester- 
day. I forgot to ask his wife when she gave it to him 
last,” said Sylvia, “but we might as well begin fresh 
at the half-pasts.” 

She poured out a teaspoonful of the stuff, and ad- 
ministered it to the old man, who opened his mouth 
and took it placidly. 

“He is very quiet and very patient,” said Sylvia to 
me in an undertone— and it is impossible for me to 
describe how delightful it was to have her speak to 
me in such a confidential undertone. “He doesn’t 
talk any,” she continued, “and doesn’t seem to care 
to have anybody read to him, for when Sister Agatha 
tried that yesterday, he went to sleep. But he likes 
his brow bathed, and I can sit on this side of his bed 
and do that, and you can find a chair and sit on the 
other side, and tell me more about your plan of bro- 
therhood.” 

There was no other chair, but I found a box, on 
which I seated myself on the other side of the old 
man’s cot, while Sylvia, taking a bottle from her 
pocket, proceeded to dampen the forehead of the 
patient with its pleasantly scented contents. 

I did not much like to see her doing this, nor did I 
care to discuss our projects over the body of this 
rheumatic laborer. 

“It strikes me,” I said, “that it would be a good 
idea to put on that bay-rum, or cologne, or whatever 
303 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


it is, with a clean paint-brush, or something of the 
kind. Don’t you dislike using your fingers f ” 

Sylvia laughed. “You have lots to learn yet,” she 
said, “before you can be a brother. And now, tell me 
what particular kind of work you think the brothers 
would do. I hardly think nursing would suit them 
very well.” 

I did not immediately answer, and Sylvia’s quick 
mind divined the reason of my reluctance. 

“Let us talk en fran^ais,” she said. “That will not 
disturb this good man, and he can go to sleep if he 
likes.” 

“Tres bien,” I said, “parlons nous en fran^ais.” 

“II serait charmant,” said she. “J’aime la belle 
langue.” 

The old man turned his head from one to the other 
of us. All his placidity vanished, and he exclaimed : 

“Ciel ! Voila les anges l’un et l’autre qui vient 
parler ma chere langue.” 

“Good gracious ! ” exclaimed Sylvia, “I thought he 
was Irish.” 

The patient now took the talking business into his 
own hands, and, in his dear language, told us his tale 
of woe. It was a very ordinary tale, and its doleful - 
ness was relieved by the old man’s delight at finding 
people who could talk to him like Christians. One of 
his woes was that he had not been long enough mar- 
ried to his wife to teach her much French. 

“I wish,” interpolated Sylvia to me, “that we had 
kept on in English. It would have been much more 
satisfactory. I expect one of the other sisters will be 
here before very long, and, before she comes, I wish 
you would tell me how you are getting on with your 
304 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


book. I have been thinking about it, ever and ever 
so much.” 

“I am not getting on at all,” said I. “ Without you 
there will be no book.” 

At this Sylvia knit her brows a little, and looked 
disturbed. 

“That is not a good way to talk about it,” she said, 
“unless, indeed, the book could be made a part of 
the brotherhood work in some way. The publisher 
might want a type-written copy, and if I should make 
it, I should know the end of the story of Tomaso and 
Lucilla. You know, I had almost given up ever 
knowing what finally happened to those two.” 

“You shall know it,” said I. “We shall work to- 
gether yet. I can think of a dozen ways in which we 
can do it, and I intend to prove that my brotherhood 
idea is thoroughly practicable.” 

“Of course it is,” said Sylvia. “Isn’t this practi- 
cal ? ” And she bedewed the patient’s brow so liber- 
ally that some of the perfume ran into his eyes and 
made him wink vigorously. 

“Merci, mademoiselle!” said he, “mais pas beau- 
coup, mais pas beaucoup ! ” 

“A capital practical idea has just occurred to me,” 
I said. “Do you think you will be here to-morrow?” 

“I expect to come here,” she answered, “for I take 
a great deal of interest in this old man. Mother 
Anastasia is still away, and I expect that Sister Sarah 
will send me again, for this is the kind of work she 
believes in. She has a very poor opinion of type- 
writing. But, of course, a sister will come with me.” 

“There is one coming to join you now,” I said. “I 
see her gray figure on the top of the hill. As she will 
305 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


not understand matters, and as I do not wish to talk 
any more about my plans until I am better able to 
show how they will work, I think it will be well for 
me to retire. But I shall be here to-morrow morning, 
and it would suit my plans very well if another sister 
comes with you.” 

Sylvia looked around at the approaching gray 
figure. 

“I think that is Sister Lydia,” she said, “at least, I 
think I recognize her walk, and so it might be well 
for you to go. If it were Sister Agatha, it wouldn’t 
matter so much. Of course, when your plan is all 
explained and agreed to, it will not make any differ- 
ence who comes or goes.” 

“Very true,” said I. “And now, I think I will bid 
you good morning. Be sure and be here to-morrow.” 

She shook hands with me across the prostrate form 
of the rheumatic Frenchman, who smiled and mur- 
mured, “Bien, bien, mes anges,” and she assured me 
that I might expect her on the morrow. 


306 


CHAPTER XLY 


I MAKE COFFEE AND GET INTO HOT WATER 

I do not like to do anything which looks in the least 
underhanded, but I must admit that I left that 
wretched cottage by the back door, and taking a 
path through some woods, made a wide circuit before 
returning to the village. 

As soon as I reached my house, I called Walkirk 
from his writing, and rapidly gave him instructions 
in regard to the execution of an idea which had come 
into my mind during my brotherhood labors of the 
morning. 

I told him to hasten to the scene of my building 
operations, and to take away all the carpenters, 
painters, and plasterers he could crowd into a two- 
horse wagon, and to go with them to the house of the 
rheumatic Frenchman, from which I knew the sisters 
would have departed before he reached it. I prom- 
ised to join him there, and at the same time that he 
set out on his errand, I hurried to a shop in the vil- 
lage, the owner of which combined the occupations of 
cabinet-maker and undertaker, and who generally 
kept on hand a small stock of cheap furniture. From 
this I selected such articles as I thought would be 
307 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


suitable or useful in a small house which at present 
contained nothing too good for a bonfire, and ordered 
them sent immediately to the Frenchman’s cottage. 

I reached this wretched little house a few minutes 
before the arrival of W alkirk and the wagon-load of 
mechanics. My understudy had entered heartily 
into my scheme, and, by his directions, the men had 
brought with them everything needed to carry out 
my plans, and in a very short time he and I had set 
every man to work. 

There were carpenters, plasterers, painters, paper- 
hangers, and a tinner and glazier, and when they 
learned that I wanted that little house completely 
renovated in the course of the afternoon, they looked 
upon the business as a lark, and entered into it with 
great spirit. The astonished woman of the house did 
not understand what was about to happen, and even 
when I had explained it to her, her mind seemed to 
take in nothing except the fact that the house ought 
to be cleaned before the painting and paper-hanging 
began. But there was no time for delays of this sort, 
and the work went on merrily. 

When the furniture arrived, the woman gave a 
gasp, for the last time the vehicle which brought 
them to her house had been there, it had taken away 
her previous husband. But a bureau and table and a 
roll of carpet assured her of its different purpose, and 
she turned in with a will to assist in arranging these 
articles. 

Before dark the work was all done. The rheumatic 
Frenchman was lying on a shining new bedstead, a 
box of Pepper Pod Plasters had been placed in 'the 
hands of his delighted wife, a grocery wagon had de- 
308 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


posited a load of goods in the kitchen, the mechanics, 
in gay spirits, had driven away, and Walkirk and I, 
tired, but triumphant, walked home, leaving behind 
us a magical transformation, a pervading smell of 
paint and damp wall-paper, and an aged couple as 
much dazed as delighted with what had happened. 

Soon after breakfast the next day I repaired to the 
bright and tidy little cottage, and there I had my 
reward. Standing near the house, a little in the 
shadow of a good-sized evergreen-tree, which I had 
ordered transplanted bodily from the woods into the 
little yard, I beheld Sylvia approaching, and with 
her a sister with a bandaged face, whom I rightly sup- 
posed to be the amiable Sister Agatha. 

When the two came within a moderate distance of 
the cottage, they stopped, they looked about them 
from side to side, and it was plain to see that they 
imagined they were on the wrong road. Then they 
walked forward a bit, stopped again, and finally came 
toward the house on a run. 

I advanced to meet them. ' 

“Good morning, sisters,” said I. 

The two were so much astonished that they did not 
return my greeting, and, for a few moments, scarcely 
noticed me. Then Sylvia turned. 

“How in the world,” she exclaimed, “did all this 
happen? It must be the same house.” 

I smiled. “It is very simple,” said I. “This”— 
and as I spoke I waved my hand toward the cottage— 
“is an instance of the way in which the brothers of 
the House of Martha intend to work.” 

“And you did this ¥ ” exclaimed Sylvia, with radiant 
eyes. 


309 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I explained to the eagerly listening sisters how the 
transformation had been accomplished, and with a 
sort of reverent curiosity they approached the house. 
Sister Agatha’s astonishment was even greater than 
that of Sylvia, for she had long known the wretched 
place. 

“It is a veritable miracle,” she said. “See this 
beautiful white fence, and the gate. It opens on 
hinges ! ” 

“Be careful,” said I, as they entered the little yard. 
“Some of the paint may yet be wet, although I told 
them to put as much drying stuff in as was possible.” 

“Actually,” cried Sylvia, “a gravel walk up to the 
house ! ” 

“And the outside a daffodil yellow, with fern-green 
blinds ! ” said Sister Agatha. 

“And the eaves tipped with geranium red ! ” cried 
Sylvia. 

“And a real tree on each side of the front door, 
and new steps ! ” exclaimed Sister Agatha. 

When they entered the house, the amazement and 
delight of the two sisters was a joy to my soul. They 
cried out at the carpet on the floor, the paper on the 
walls, the tables, the chairs, the bureau, the looking- 
glass, the three framed lithographs on the wall, the 
clock, and the shining new bedstead on which their 
patient lay. 

“If Mother Anastasia could but see this,” cried Syl- 
via, “she would believe in the brotherhood.” 

“He sez yer angels,” said the woman of the house, 
coming forward, “that’s what he sez. An’ he’s roight, 
too, for with thim Pepper Pod Plasters, an’ the shmell 
310 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


of paint in the house, which he hates, he’ll be out o’ 
doors in two days, or I’m much mishtaken.” 

Sylvia and I now approached the old man to see 
what he thought about it. He was very grateful, 
and said nothing about the smell of paint, but we 
found him with a burning desire in his heart which 
had been fanned into flames by the arrival of the gro- 
ceries on the day before. He eagerly asked us if we 
could make coffee. When he was well he could make 
it himself, but since he had been lying on that bed, 
he had not tasted a drop of the beloved liquid. His 
wife did not drink it, and could not make it. But as 
we could speak French, and had sent coffee, he felt, 
sure that we could compound the beverage so dear to 
the French heart. 

“The angels make coffee,” he said, in his best patois, 
“otherwise what would heaven be?” 

Both of the angels declared that the good man 
should have some coffee without delay, but Sylvia 
said to me that, although she had not the least idea 
how to make it, she was quite sure Sister Agatha 
could do it. But that sister, when asked, declared 
that she knew nothing about coffee, and did not ap- 
prove of it for sick people, but if the man did not 
like the tea his wife made, she would try what she 
could do. 

But this offer was declined. The old man must 
have his coffee, and as there was no one else to make 
it, I undertook to do it myself. I thought I remem- 
bered how coffee had been made when I had been 
camping out, and I went promptly to work. Every- 
body helped. The old woman ground the berries, 
311 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Sister Agatha stirred up the fire, and Sylvia broke 
two eggs, in order to get shells enough to clear the 
liquid. 

It was a good while before the coffee was ready, 
but at last it was made, and Sylvia carried it to our 
patient in a great bowl. She sat down on one side of 
the bed to administer the smoking beverage with a 
spoon, while I sat on the other side and raised the 
old man’s head, that he might drink the better. After 
swallowing the first tablespoonful the patient winked. 

“I hope it did not scald his throat,” said Sylvia. 
“Do you know what c scald’ is in French?” 

“I cannot remember,” said I. “You would better 
let the next spoonful cool a little.” 

But the patient opened his mouth for more. 

“C’est potage,” he said, “mais il est bon.” 

“I am sorry I made soup of it,” I said to Sylvia, 
“but I am sure it tastes like coffee.” 

We continued to feed the old man, who absorbed 
the newfangled broth as fast as it was given to him, 
until a voice behind me made us both jump. 

“Sister Hagar,” said the voice, “what does this 
mean ? ” 

“Goodness, Mother Anastasia ! ” cried Sylvia, “you 
made me scald the outside of his throat.” 

At the foot of the bed stood Mother Anastasia, clad 
in her severest gray, her brows knit and her lips close- 
pressed. 

“Sister Hagar,” she repeated, “what is all this?” 

I let down the old man’s head, and Sylvia, plac- 
ing the almost empty bowl upon the table, replied 
serenely : 

“Mr. Yanderley is making a beginning in brother- 
312 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


hood work— the brotherhood of the House of Martha, 
you know. I think it would work splendidly. Just 
look around and see what he has done. He has made 
this charming cottage out of an old rattletrap house— 
everything you see in one afternoon, and lots of pro- 
visions in the kitchen, besides. Sisters alone could 
never have done this.” 

Mother Anastasia turned to me. 

“I will speak with you outside,” she said, and I 
followed her into the little yard. As soon as we were 
far enough from the house to speak without being 
overheard, she stopped and, turning to me, said : 

“You are not content with driving me from the 
life on which I had set my heart, back into this mis- 
taken vocation, but you are determined to make my 
lot miserable and unhappy. And not mine only, but 
that of that simple-hearted and unsuspecting girl. I 
do not see how you can be so selfishly cruel. You are 
resolved to break her heart, and to do it in the most 
torturing way. But you shall work her no more 
harm. I do not now appeal to your honor, to your 
sense of justice. I simply say that I shall henceforth 
stand between you and her. What misery may come 
to her and to me from what you have already done, I 
do not know, but you do no more.” 

I stood and listened with the blood boiling within me. 

“Marcia Raynor,” I said, “ — for I shall not call you 
by that title which you put on and take off as you 
please,— I here declare to you that I shall never give 
up Sylvia. If I never speak to her again, nor see her, I 
shall not give her up. I make no answer to what you 
have charged me with, but I say to you that as Syl- 
via’s life and my life cannot be one as I would have 
313 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


it, I shall live the life that she lives, even though our 
lives be ever apart. For the love I bear her I shall 
always do the work that she does. But I believe that 
the time will come when people, wiser than you are, 
will see that what I proposed to do is a good thing to 
do, and the time will come when a man and a woman 
can labor side by side in good works, and both do 
better work because they work together. And to 
Sylvia, and to my plan of brotherhood, I shall ever be 
constant. Remember that.” 

Without a word or change in her expression she left 
me, went into the house, and closed the door behind 
her. I did not wish to make a scene, which would 
give rise to injurious gossip, and, therefore, walked 
away, though, as I did so, I turned to look in at the 
open window. But I did not see Sylvia : I only saw the 
bandaged face of Sister Agatha looking out at me, 
more mournful than before. 

As I rapidly walked homeward, I said to myself, 
“Now I declare myself a full brother of the House of 
Martha. I shall take up their cause, and steadfastly 
work for it, whether they like it, or not.” 


314 


CHAPTER XLVI 


GOING BACK FOR A FRIEND 

When I reached home I looked lip my grandmother, 
and told her everything that had happened. 

My excitement was so great that it was necessary 
that I should talk to some one, and I felt a pang of 
regret when I remembered that latterly I had given 
no confidences to her. 

My grandmother listened eagerly and without in- 
terrupting me, but, as I spoke, she shook her head 
again and again, and when I had finished, she said : 

“My dear boy, if you understood the world and the 
people in it as well as I do, you would know that that 
sort of thing could never, never work. Before long 
you and Sylvia would be madly in love with each 
other, and then what would happen nobody knows. 
It may be that Mother Anastasia has not fully done 
her duty in this case, or it may be that she has done 
too much, and other people may have acted improp- 
erly and without due thought and caution. But be 
this as it may, it is plain enough to see that your 
poor heart has been dreadfully wrung. I wish I had 
known before of this brotherhood notion, and of what 
you intended to do, and I would have told you, as I 
315 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


tell yon now, that in this world we must accept situa- 
tions. That is the only way in which we can get 
along at all. Sylvia Raynor has gone, soul and body, 
into this Martha House, which is the same as a con- 
vent, and, to all intents and purposes, she is the same 
as a nun. Now, there is no use fighting against that 
sort of thing. Even if she should consent to climb 
over the wall and run away with you, I do not be- 
lieve you would like a wife who would do that, 
after all she had vowed and given her solemn word 
to.” 

“My dear grandmother,” I said, “all that you say 
may be true, but it makes no difference to me. I 
shall always be faithful to Sylvia.” 

“Perhaps so, perhaps so,” said my grandmother, 
“but you must remember this : it may be all very well 
to be faithful, but you should be careful how you do 
it. In some respects Mother Anastasia is entirely 
right, and your faithfulness, if injudiciously shown, 
may make miserable the life of this young woman.” 

I sighed, but said nothing. My grandmother looked 
pityingly upon me. 

“I think you can do nothing better than to go and 
travel, as you have proposed. Stay away for a year. 
Dear knows, I do not want to keep you from me for 
all that time, but the absence will be for your good. 
It will influence your life. When you come back, 
then you will know yourself better than you can 
possibly know yourself now. Then you will be able 
to see what you truly ought to do, and I promise you 
that, if I am alive, I will help you do it.” 

I took the dear old lady in my arms, and her advice 
to my heart. I acknowledged to myself that, at this 
316 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


conjuncture, the wisest thing, the kindest thing, was to 
go away. I might not stay away for a year, but I 
would go. 

“ Grandmother,” I said, “I will do what you advise. 
But I have something to ask of you : I have vowed 
that I will be a brother of the House of Martha, and 
that I will do its work, with or without the consent 
of the sisters, and with or without their companion- 
ship. Now, if I go, will you be my substitute? Will 
you, as far as you can, assist the sisters in their under- 
takings, and do what you think I would have done, 
had I been here ? ” 

“I cannot change a dilapidated hut into a charming 
cottage in one afternoon/’ she said, placing both hands 
on my shoulders as she spoke, “but I will do all that 
I can, and all that you ought to do if you were here. 
That much I promise.” 

“Then I will go,” I said, “with a heavy heart, but 
with an easier conscience.” 

Walkirk entirely approved of an immediate start 
upon the journey which I had before proposed. I 
think he feared that, if it was postponed any longer, I 
might get some other idea into my head which would 
work better than the brotherhood scheme, and that 
our travels might be postponed indefinitely. 

But there was a great deal to be done before I could 
leave Rome for a lengthy absence, and a week was 
occupied in arranging my business affairs, and plan- 
ning for the comfort and pleasure of my grandmother 
while I should be away. Walkirk engaged the stenog- 
rapher, and was the greatest possible help to me in 
every way, but, notwithstanding his efforts to relieve 
me of work, that was a busier week for me than any 
317 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


week in my whole life. This was an advantage to me, 
for it kept me from thinking too much of the reason 
for my hurried journey. 

At last the day arrived on which the steamer was 
to sail, and the generally cool Walkirk actually grew 
nervous in his efforts to get me ready to start by the 
early-morning train for the city. In these efforts I 
did not assist him in the least. In fact, had he not 
been with me, I think that I should not have tried to 
leave home in time to catch the steamer. The more 
I thought of catching the steamer, the less I cared to 
do so ; the more I thought of leaving home, the less I 
cared to do so. It was not that I was going away 
from Sylvia that made me thus reluctant to start. It 
was because I was going away without taking leave 
of her— without a word or even a sign from her. I 
ground my teeth as I thought of how I had lost the 
only chance I had had of bidding her farewell, and of 
assuring her that, no matter what happened, I would 
be constant to her and to the principles in which we 
had both come to believe. I had been too much ex- 
cited, on the morning I had left her in the French- 
man’s cottage, to think that that would be my last 
chance of seeing her— that thereafter Mother Anas- 
tasia would never cease to guard her from my 
speech or sight. I should have rushed in, caring 
for nothing. People might have talked, but Sylvia 
would have known that prohibitions and separa- 
tions could make no difference in my feeling for 
her. 

And now I was going away without a word or a 
sign, or even the slightest trifle which I could cherish 
318 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


as a memento of her. There was a blankness about 
it all which deadened my soul. 

But "Walkirk was inexorable. He made every ar- 
rangement, and even superintended my farewell to 
my grandmother, and gently but firmly interrupted 
me as I repeated my entreaties that she would speed- 
ily find out something about Sylvia, and write to me. 
At last we were in the carriage, with time enough to 
reach the station, and Walkirk wiped his brow, as 
would a man who had had a heavy load lifted from 
his mind. 

We had not gone a quarter of the distance when 
the thought suddenly struck me, Why should I go 
away without a memento of Sylvia? Why had I not 
remembered my friend Yespa, the wasp, whose flight 
around my secretary’s room had made the first break 
in the restrictions which surrounded her— had first 
shown me a Sylvia in place of a gray-bonneted nun? 
That dead wasp, pinned to a card on the wall of my 
study, was the only thing I possessed in which Sylvia 
had a share. I must go back and get it— I must take 
it with me. 

When I shouted to the coachman to turn,— that I 
must go back to get something I had forgotten,— Wal- 
kirk was thrown into a fever of anxiety. If we did 
not catch this train we would lose the steamer. The 
next train would be three hours later. But his pro- 
testations had no effect upon me. I must have Sylvia’s 
wasp, no matter what happened. 

Back to the house we dashed, and up -stairs I ran. 
I took down the card to which the wasp was affixed, 
I found a little box in which to put it, and while I 
319 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


was looking for a rubber band by which to secure the 
lid, a servant came hurriedly into the room with a 
telegram for me. I tore it open. It was from Miss 
Laniston, and read thus : 

“ Come to me as soon as you can. Important busi- 
ness.” 

“Important business!” I ejaculated. “She can 
have no business with me that does not concern Sylvia. 
I will go to her instantly.” 

In a few seconds I was in the carriage, shouting to 
the man to drive as fast as he could. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Walkirk. “You cannot go too 
fast.” 

I handed my companion the telegram. He read it 
blankly. 

“It is a pity,” he said, “if the business is impor- 
tant. All that can be done now is to telegraph to her 
that she must write to you in London by the next 
steamer.” 

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” said I. “I am 
going to her the instant we reach Hew York.” 

Walkirk clenched his hands together, and looked 
away. He had no words for this situation. 

My temper was very different. 

“What a wonderful piece of luck ! ” I exclaimed. 
“If we had kept on to the station by this short cut, 
the telegraph boy, who, of course, came by the main 
road, would have missed me, and there would not have 
been time for him to get back to the station before 
the train started. How fortunate it was that I went 
back for that wasp ! ” 

“Wasp!” almost screamed Walkirk, and, by the 
320 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


way he looked at me, I know he imagined that I was 
temporarily insane. 

We caught the train, and on the way I explained 
my allusion to the wasp so far as to assure Walkirk 
that I was no more crazy than men badly crossed in 
love are apt to be. 

“But are you really going to Miss Laniston?” he 
said. 

“I shall be able to drive up there, give her fifteen 
minutes, with five as a margin, and reach the steamer 
in time. You can go directly to the dock and attend 
to the baggage and everything.” 

My understudy sighed, but he knew it was of no 
use to make any objections. He did not fail, however, 
to endeavor to impress upon me the importance of 
consulting my watch while listening to Miss Lanis ton’s 
communication. 

My plan was carried out. We separated as soon as 
we reached the city, and in a cab I rattled to Miss 
Laniston’s house. 


321 


CHAPTER XL VII 


I INTEREST MISS LANISTON 

When I reached Miss Laniston’s house that lady was 
at breakfast, but she did not keep me waiting long. 

“ Truly / 7 she said, as she entered the drawing-room, 
“you are the most expeditious person I ever knew. 
I knew that you would come to me, but I did not 
suppose you would even start as soon as this.” 

“I had already started when I received your tele- 
gram,” I said. 

“To come here?” 

“No, to sail for Europe.” 

“Well, well ! ” she exclaimed, “from this moment I 
shall respect my instincts— a thing I never did before. 
When I woke this morning, my first thought was of 
the message I intended to send to you, and I intended 
to attend to it immediately after breakfast. But my 
hitherto unappreciated instincts hinted to me that no 
time should be lost, and I called my maid, and de- 
spatched the telegram immediately. Moral : Do all 
the good you can before you get up in the morning. 
Why are you starting for Europe ? ” 

“I haven’t time to tell you,” I said. “In fact, I can 
322 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


only remain a few minutes longer, or I shall lose the 
steamer. Please tell me your business.” 

“Is Sylvia the cause of your going away?” she 
asked. 

“Yes,” I said. “Is she the reason of your wishing to 
see me ? ” 

“Most certainly,” she answered. “When does your 
steamer start? ” 

“By ten o’clock,” I said. 

“Oh, bless me,” she remarked, glancing at the clock, 
“you have quite time enough to hear all I have to 
say, and then if you do not catch the steamer, it is 
your own fault. Sit down, I pray you.” 

Very reluctantly I took a seat, for at last the spirit 
of Walkirk had infected me. 

“Now,” said she, “I will cut my story as short as 
possible, but you really ought to hear it before you 
start. I made a visit to Arden, on the day after 
you performed the grand transformation scene in 
your brotherhood extravaganza. I should have been 
greatly amused by what was told me of this prank, if 
I had not seen that it had caused so much trouble. 
Sylvia was in a wretched way, and in an extremely 
bad temper. Marcia was almost as miserable, for she 
was acting the part of an extinguisher not only to 
Sylvia’s hopes and aspirations, but to her own. So 
far as I could see, there was no way out of the doleful 
dumps in which you seemed to have plunged yourself 
and all parties concerned, but I set to work to try 
what I could do to straighten out matters— my prin- 
cipal object being, I candidly admit, to enable Marcia 
Raynor to feel free to give up her position of watch- 
dog, and go to her National College, on which her soul 
323 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


is set. But, to accomplish this, I must first do some- 
thing with Sylvia. But that girl has a conscience like 
a fence-post, and a disposition like a squirrel that 
skips along the rails. I could do nothing with her. 
She had sworn to be a sister of Martha for life, and 
yet she would not consent to act like an out-and-out 
sister, and give up all that stuff about type -writing 
for you, and the other nonsensical notions of co-Mar- 
thaism, with which you infected her. She stoutly 
stuck to it, in spite of all the arguments I could use, 
that there was no good reason why you and she, as 
well as the other sisters and some other gentlemen, 
could not work together in the noble cause of I don’t 
remember what folderol. Pretty co-Marthas you 
and she would make ! 

“Then I tried to induce Marcia to give up her fan- 
cies of responsibilities and all that, and to leave the 
girl in the charge of the present Mother Inferior— an 
elderly woman called Sister Sarah, who, in my opinion, 
could be quite as much of a griffin as the case de- 
manded. But she would not listen to me. She had 
been the cause of her cousin’s joining the sisterhood, 
and now she would not desert her, and she said a lot 
about the case requiring not only vigilance, but kind- 
ness and counsel, and that sort of thing. Then I went 
back to the city and tried my hand on Sylvia’s 
mother, but with no success at all. She is like a stone 
gate-post, and always was, and declared that, as Sylvia 
had entered the institution because Marcia was there, 
it was the latter’s duty to give up everything else, 
and to throw herself between Sylvia and your mis- 
chievous machinations, and to stay there until you 
were married to somebody, and the danger was past.” 

324 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Machinations ! ” I ejaculated— “a most unreason- 
able person.” 

“Perhaps so/’ said Miss Laniston, “but not a bit 
more than the rest of you. You are the most unrea- 
sonable lot I ever met with. Having failed utterly 
with the three women, I had some idea of sending for 
you, and of trying to persuade you to marry some one 
who is not under the sisterhood’s restrictions, and so 
smooth out this wretched tangle. But I knew that 
you were more obstinate and stiff-necked than any of 
them, and so concluded to save myself the trouble of 
reasoning with you.” 

“A wise decision,” I remarked. 

“But I could not give up,” she continued. “I 
could not bear the thought that my friend Marcia 
Baynor should sacrifice herself in this way. I went 
back to Arden in the hope that something might sug- 
gest itself— that a gleam of sense might be shown by 
the one or the other of the lunatics in gray for whose 
good I was racking my brains. But I found things 
worse than I had left them. Sylvia had stirred 
herself into a spirit of combativeness of which no one 
would have supposed her capable, and had actually 
endeavored to browbeat her Mother Superior into the 
belief that a Brotherhood Annex was not only neces- 
sary to the prosperity and success of the House of 
Martha, but that it was absolutely wicked not to have 
it. She had gone on in this strain until Marcia had 
become angry, and then there had been a scene, and 
tears, and much subsequent misery. 

“I talked first with one doleful sister, and then 
with the other, with the only result that I became 
nearly as doleful as they. In my despair, I went to 
325 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 

Marcia, and urged her to acknowledge herself van- 
quished, to give up this contest, which would be her 
ruin, to show herself a true woman, and to take up 
the true work of her life. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do it,’ she 
said, and she looked as if she were going to cry— a most 
unusual thing with her. ‘If I went away, to-morrow 
they would be together, making mud-pies for the 
children of the poor.’ I sprang to my feet. ‘ Marcia 
Raynor,’ I cried, ‘you made this House of Martha. 
You are the head and the front, the top and the bot- 
tom of it. You are its founder and its autocrat. It 
lives on your money— for everybody knows that 
what these sisters make wouldn’t buy their pill-boxes. 
And now, having run it all these years, and having 
brought yourself and Sylvia to the greatest grief by 
it, it is your duty to put an end to it— to abolish 
it.’ 

“‘Abolish the House of Martha?’ she cried, with 
her great eyes blazing at me. 

“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘abolish it, destroy it, annihilate it, 
declare it null, void, dead, and gone, utterly extin- 
guished, and out of existence. You can do this, and 
you ought to do this. It is your only way out of the 
dreadful situation in which you have got yourself and 
Sylvia. Let the other sisters go to some other insti- 
tutions, or wherever they like. You and Sylvia will 
be free— that is the great point. How, do not hesitate. 
Stop supplies, dissolve the organization, break up the 
House of Martha— and do it instantly.’ 

“She made one step toward me, and seized me by 
the wrist. ‘Janet,’ she said, ‘I will do it ! ’ And she 
did it that day. At present there is no House of 
Martha.” 


326 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I sat and gazed at Miss Laniston without compre- 
hending what I had heard. 

“No House of Martha ! 77 I ejaculated. 

“That is precisely the state of the case / 7 she an- 
swered. “The establishment was dissolved at noon 
yesterday. As I had had all the trouble of bringing 
this thing about, I considered that I had a right to 
tell you of it myself. I thought it would interest me 
to see how you took it . 77 

I rose to my feet— I stepped toward her. 

“Ho House of Martha ! 77 I gasped. “And Sylvia ? 77 

“Sylvia will go home to her mother, so she told me 
yesterday. I was present at the dissolution. I think 
she will probably come to the city this afternoon . 77 

I snatched up my hat. “I must go to her in- 
stantly , 77 I said. “I must see her before she reaches 
her mother. I have lost time already . 77 

“Upon my word ! 77 exclaimed Miss Laniston, “your 
way of taking it is, indeed, interesting. Hot a word of 
thanks, not a sign of recognition — 77 

I had nearly reached the door, but now I rushed 
back and seized her by the hand. “Excuse me , 77 I 
said, “but you can see for yourself — 77 And, with one 
violent shake, I dropped her hand and hurried away. 

“Oh, yes , 77 she cried after me, “I can easily see for 
myself ! 77 And, as I left the house, I heard her laugh. 

I sprang into my cab, ordering the man to drive 
fast for the railroad station. It mattered not to me 
whether Walkirk went to Europe or not. All I cared 
for was to catch the next train which would take me 
to Arden. 


327 


CHAPTER XLVIII 


IN A COLD, BARE ROOM 

When I reached Arden, I took one of the melancholy 
vehicles which stand at our station, and very much 
astonished the driver by ordering him to take me, not 
to my own home, but to the House of Martha. 

“You know, they’re busted up, sir,” said the man, 
turning to me, as his old horse hurried us along at the 
best of his speed. 

“But the sisters have not left? ” I eagerly asked. 

“Not all,” he said, “but two or three of them went 
down this morning.” 

“Drive on quicker,” I replied. “I am in a hurry.” 

The man gave the horse a crack with his whip, 
which made no difference whatever in our rate of 
speed, and said : 

“If you’ve got a bill ag’in’ any of them, sir, you 
needn’t worry. The Mother is still there, and she’s 
all right, you know.” 

“Bill? Nonsense ! ” said I. 

“I’m sorry they’re busted,” said the man. “They 
didn’t do much hackin’, but they give us a lot of 
haulin’ from the station.” 

As I hurried up the broad path which led to the 
328 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


front of the House of Martha, I found the door of the 
main entrance open— something I had never noticed 
before, although I had often passed the house. I 
entered unceremoniously, and saw before me, in the 
hallway, a woman in gray stooping over a trunk. 
She turned at the sound of my footsteps on the bare 
floor, and I beheld Sister Sarah. Her eyes flashed as 
she saw me, and I know that her first impulse was to 
order me out of the house. This, of course, she now 
had no right to do, but there were private rights 
which she still maintained. 

“I should think, 7 ’ she said, “that a man who has 
done all the mischief that you have done— who has 
worked and planned and plotted and contrived until 
he has undermined and utterly ruined the sisterhood 
of pious women who ask nothing of this world but to 
be let alone to do their own work in their own way— 
would be ashamed to put his nose into this house. But 
I suppose a man who would do what you have done 
does not know what shame is. Have you come here 
to sneer and gibe and scorn and mock and gloat over 
the misfortunes of the women whose home you have 
broken up, ruined, and devastated f 77 

“ Madam,’ 7 said I, “can you tell me where I can find 
Miss Sylvia Raynor ? 77 

She looked as if she were about to spring and bite. 

“Atrocious ! 77 she exclaimed. “I will not stay 
under the same roof ! 77 And she marched out of the 
door. 

I made my way into the reception-room. I met no 
one, and the room was empty, although I heard on 
the floor above the sound of many footsteps, appa- 
rently those of the sisters preparing for departure,. 

329 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I looked around for a bell, or some means of making 
my presence known. The room appeared harder, 
barer, emptier than when I had seen it before. In a 
moment it was filled with all the light and beauty of 
the world. A door opened, and Sylvia entered. 

“I saw you come/ 7 she said, advancing with out- 
stretched hands, “and hurried down as soon as I 
could. 77 

She was in her gray dress, but without shawl or 
head-covering. Her face was filled with the most 
charming welcome. I hastened toward her. I did 
not take her hands, but opening my arms, I folded her 
in them, and kissed her over and over again. With 
flushed face she pushed herself a little from me. 

“Isn’t this taking a great deal for granted? 77 she 
said. 

“Granted ! 77 1 exclaimed. “Think of what has been 
denied. Think of the weeks, the months— 77 

“We would a great deal better think somebody may 
come in here and see us, 77 said Sylvia, pushing herself 
still farther from me. 

“But didn’t you expect me to rush to you the 
instant I heard you were a free woman? Did you 
suppose there was anything to be taken for granted 
between us? 77 

“Oh, no,” she said. “I think we understood each 
other pretty well, but then, don’t you see, I didn’t 
suppose it would be like this. I am expecting a 
trunk from Hew York every minute, and I thought, 
when it came, I should be dressed like other people. 
How that I am not a sister, I did not want you to see 
me in these dreary clothes. Then I would go to my 
mother’s house, and I thought you would call on me 
330 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


there, and things would go on more regularly. But 
you are so impetuous.” 

“My dearest love,” said I, “it fills me with rapture 
to take you in my arms in the same dress you wore 
when I fell in love with you. Often and often, as I 
looked at you through that grating, have I thought 
that it would he to me the greatest joy on earth if I 
could take you in my arms and tell you that I loved 
you.” 

“You thought that!” exclaimed Sylvia. “It was 
very wrong of you.” 

“Bight or wrong, I did it,” said I. “And now I have 
her— my dear little nun— here in my arms.” 

She ceased to push, and looked up at me with a 
merry smile. 

“Do you remember,” she said, “the morning the 
wasp came near stinging me ? ” 

“Indeed I do,” I said vehemently. 

“Well, before that wasp came,” she continued, “I 
used to be a good deal afraid of you. I thought you 
were very learned and dignified. But after I was so 
frightened, and you saw me without my bonnet, and 
all that, I felt we were very much more like friends, 
and that was the very beginning of my liking you.” 

“My darling,” I exclaimed, “that wasp was the best 
friend we ever had. Do you want to see it?” And, 
releasing her, I took from my pocket the pasteboard 
box in which I had placed our friend Vespa. 

As she looked at the insect, her face was lighted 
with joyous surprise. 

“And that is the same wasp?” she said, “and you 
kept it?” 

“Yes, and shall always keep it,” I said. “Even now 
331 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


it has not ceased to be onr friend.” And then I told 
her how my desire to take with me this memento of 
her had held me back from the rolling Atlantic, and 
brought me to her. She raised her face to me with 
her beautiful eyes in a mist of tenderness, and this 
time her arms were extended. 

“You are the dearest man ! ” she said. 

In less than a minute after she had spoken these 
words, Mother Anastasia entered the room. She 
stood for a moment amazed, and then she hastily 
shut the door. 

“Really,” she exclaimed, “you two are incompre- 
hensible beings ! Don’t you know that people might 
come in here at any moment? It is fortunate that I 
was the person who came in at this moment.” 

“But you knew he was here?” said Sylvia. 

“Yes, I knew that,” the other replied, “but I ex- 
pected you would both remember that at present this 
house may almost be considered a public place.” 

“My dear Marcia,” said Sylvia, “if you knew him 
as well as I do, you would know that he would never 
remember anything about a place.” 

I turned to the ex- Mother Superior, who had al- 
ready discarded the garb of the sisterhood, and was 
dressed in a dark walking-suit. 

“If you knew me as well as I know myself,” I said, 
reaching to her both my hands, “you would know that 
my gratitude toward you is deeper than the deepest 
depths of the earth.” 

She took one of my hands. 

“If you have anything to be grateful for,” she said, 
“it is for the lectures I have given you, and which, I 
am afraid, I ought to continue to give you. As to 
332 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


what was done here yesterday, I consider myself as 
much benefited as anybody, and I suppose Sylvia is of 
the same opinion regarding herself. But there is 
one person to whom you truly ought to be grateful— 
Miss Laniston.” 

“I know that,” I said. “I have seen her. She told 
me what she did, and I treated her as I would treat 
a boy who had brushed my coat. But I shall make 
amends.” 

“Indeed, you shall,” said Sylvia, “and I will go with 
you when you do it.” 

“But you must not set yourself aside in this way,” 
said I, addressing the older lady. “It was you who 
fanned my hopes of winning Sylvia when there seemed 
no reason why they should not fade away. It was 
you who promised to help me, and who did help me.” 

“Did you do that, Marcia?” asked Sylvia. 

The beautiful woman who had been Mother Anas- 
tasia flushed a little as she answered : 

“Yes, dear, but then you were only a sister on pro- 
bation.” 

“And you wanted me to marry him?” 

The other smiled and nodded, and in the next mo- 
ment Sylvia’s arms were about her neck, and Sylvia’s 
lips were on her cheek. 

I was very much affected, and there is no knowing 
how my feelings and gratitude might have been 
evinced, had not the clumping of a trunk upon the 
stairs, and the voices of sisters at the door, called me 
to order. 


333 


CHAPTER XLIX 


MY OWN WAY 

When I went home to my grandmother, she was 
greatly surprised to see me, and I lost no time in 
explaining my unexpected appearance. 

“Really, really ! ” she exclaimed, “I was just writing 
you a letter, which I intended to send after you, so 
that you would get it when you arrived in London, 
and in it I was going to tell you all about the breaking 
up of the House of Martha, of which I first heard half 
an hour after you left me. I was glad you had not 
known of it before you started, for I thought it would 
be so much better for all the changes to be made while 
you were away, and for Sylvia to be in her mother’s 
house, where she could get rid of her nunnish habits, 
and have some proper clothes made. Of course, I 
knew you would come back soon, but I thought your 
own mind would be in much better order for a little 
absence.” 

“My dear grandmother,” I cried, “in mind and 
body I am in perfect order, and it is presence, not 
absence, which made me so.” 

“Somehow or other,” said she, smiling, “the fates 
seem to help you to have your own way, and I am 
334 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


sure I am delighted that you will stay at home. And 
what has become of Mr. Walkirk? ” 

“Upon my word ! ” I exclaimed, “I do not know.” 

Toward evening Walkirk returned, looking tired 
and out of spirits. I truly regretted the carelessness 
and neglect with which I had treated him, and ex- 
plained and apologized to the best of my ability. He 
was a good-natured fellow, and behaved magnani- 
mously. 

“Things have turned out wonderfully well,” he said, 
as he took a seat, “but I shall be more delighted with 
the state of affairs when I am a little less fatigued. 
Minor annoyances ought not to be considered, but, I 
assure you, I have had a pretty rough time of it. As 
the hour for sailing drew near, and you did not make 
your appearance, I became more and more nervous 
and anxious. I would not allow our baggage to be 
put on board, for I knew a conference with a lady 
was likely to be of indefinite duration, and when, at 
last, the steamer sailed, I went immediately to Miss 
Laniston’s house to inform' you of the fact, and to find 
out what you proposed to do. But Miss Laniston was 
not at home, and the maid told me that a gentle- 
man— undoubtedly you— had left the house nearly an 
hour before, and his great haste made her think that 
he was trying to catch a steamer. 

“‘People would not hurry like that/ she said, ‘to 
catch a train, for there’s always another one in an 
hour or two.’ 

“Then I began to fear that, in your haste, you had 
gone on board the wrong steamer,— two others sailed 
to-day, a little later than ours,— and I went to their 
piers and made all sorts of inquiries, but I could find 
335 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


out nothing. Then I went to your club, to your law- 
yer’s office, and to several other places where I sup- 
posed you might go, but no one had seen or heard of 
you. Then a fear began to creep over me that you 
had had some greatly depressing news from Miss Lan- 
iston, and that you had made away with yourself.” 

“ Walkirk ! ” I exclaimed, “how dared you think 
that f ” 

“Men in the nervous condition I was,” he answered, 
“think all sorts of things, and that is one of the 
things I thought. Finally I went to Miss Laniston’s 
house again, and this time I found her, and learned 
what had happened. Then I went to the pier, ordered 
the trunks sent back here,— for I knew there was no 
question now of the trip to Europe,— and here I am.” 

It was easy to see that, whatever pleasure the turn 
in my affairs may have given Walkirk, he was disap- 
pointed at losing his trip to Europe. But I thought 
it well not to reopen his wounds by any allusion to 
this fact, and contented myself by saying the most 
earnest and cordial things about what he had done 
and suffered for me that day, and by inwardly deter- 
mining that I would make full amends to him for his 
lost journey. 

In about ten days I received a message by cable 
from Liverpool, which was sent by my stenographer, 
informing me that he had gone aboard the steamer, 
as per agreement, and being busy writing letters to 
send back by the pilot, had not discovered that Wal- 
kirk and I were not on board until it was too late. 
The message was a long one, and its cost, as well as 
that of the one by which I informed the stenographer 
that he might come home, and the price of the man’s 
336 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


passage to Liverpool and back, besides the sum I was 
obliged to pay him for his lost time, might all have 
been saved to me, had the fellow been thoughtful 
enough to make himself sure that we were on board 
before he allowed himself to be carried off. But 
little rubs of this kind were of slight moment to me 
at that time. 

On the day after things had been taken for granted 
between Sylvia and myself, I saw her at her mother’s 
house, and I must admit that although it had given 
me such exquisite pleasure to feel that she was mine 
in the coarse, gray gown of a sister, it delighted me 
more to feel that she was mine in the ordinary costume 
of society. She was as gay as a butterfly ought to be 
which had just cast off its gray wrappings and spread 
its wings to the coloring light. 

I found Mrs. Raynor in a somewhat perturbed state 
of mind. 

“I cannot accommodate myself,” she said, “to these 
sudden and violent mutations. I like to sit on the 
sands and stay there as long as I please, and to feel 
that I know how high each breaker will be, and how 
far the tide will come in. But these tidal waves which 
make beach of sea, and sea of beach, sweep me away 
utterly. I cannot comprehend where I am. A week 
ago I considered you as an enemy with active designs 
on the peace of my daughter. I was about to write 
you a letter to demand that you should cease from 
troubling her. But I heard you were going to Eu- 
rope, and then I felt that henceforth our paths would 
be smoother, for I believed that absence would cure 
you of your absurd and objectless infatuation. But, 
suddenly, down goes the House of Martha, and up 
337 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


comes the enemy, transformed into a suitor, who is 
loved by Sylvia, and against whom I can have no pos- 
sible objection. Now, cannot you see for yourself 
how this sort of thing must affect a mind accustomed 
to a certain uniformity of emotion ? ” 

“Madam,” said I, “it will be the object of my life 
to make you so happy in our happiness that you shall 
remember this recent tumult of events as something 
more gratifying to look back upon than your most 
cherished memories of tranquil delight.” 

“You seem to have a high opinion of your abilities,” 
she said, smiling, “and of the value of what you offer 
me. I am perfectly willing that you try what you 
can do. Nevertheless, I wish you had gone to Europe. 
Everything would have turned out just the same, and 
the affair would have been more seemly.” 

“Oh, we can easily make that all right,” said I. 
“Sylvia and I will go to Europe on our bridal 
trip.” 

As I finished these words, Sylvia came into the room, 
accompanied by Miss Laniston. 

“Here is a gentleman,” said my dear girl to her 
companion, “who has declared his desire to thank you 
for something you have done for him, and he has 
spoken so strongly about the way in which he in- 
tended to pour out his gratitude that I want to see 
how he does it.” 

“Mr. Vanderley,” said Miss Laniston, “I forbid you 
to utter one word of that outpouring, which you 
would have poured out yesterday morning, had it 
not been so urgently necessary to catch a train. When 
I am ready for the effusion referred to, I will fix a 
time for it, and let you know the day before, and I 
338 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


will take care that no one shall he present at it but 
ourselves.” 

“Anyway,” said Sylvia, “he will tell me all about 
it.” 

“If he does,” said Miss Laniston, “you will reenter 
a convent.” 


339 


CHAPTEK L 


MY BOOK OF TRAVEL 

When the House of Martha had been formally abol- 
ished, the members of the sisterhood made various 
dispositions of themselves. Some determined to enter 
institutions of a similar character, while others who 
had homes planned to retire to them, with the inten- 
tion of endeavoring to do what good they could with- 
out separating themselves from the world in which 
they were to do it. Sister Sarah was greatly incensed 
at the dissolution of the house, and much more so 
because, had it continued, she expected to be at the 
head of it. She declared her intention of throwing 
herself into the arms of the mother-church, where a 
sisterhood meant something, and where such nonsense 
and treachery as this would be impossible. 

I did not enjoy the autumn of that year to the 
extent that I should have enjoyed it had I been able 
to arrange matters according to my own ideas of what 
was appropriate to the case. 

Sylvia lived in the city, and I lived in the country, 
and although I went to her whenever I could, and 
she and her mother dined several times with my 
340 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


grandmother, there were often long stretches, some- 
times extending over the greater part of the day, 
when I did not see her at all. 

Thus it was that I had sometimes to think of other 
things, and one morning I said to my understudy : 
“Walkirk, there is something I regret very much, 
and that is the non-completion of my book. I shall 
never finish it, I am sure, because everything that 
has ever happened to me is going to be made unin- 
teresting and tedious by what is to happen. Travel 
and life itself will be quite another thing to me, and 
I am sure that I will be satisfied with enjoying it, 
and shall not want to write about it. And so good-by 
to the book.” 

“In regard to your book,” said Walkirk, “I feel it 
my duty to say to you that there is no occasion for 
you to bid good-by to it.” 

“You are wrong there!” I exclaimed. “I shall 
never write it. I do not want to write it.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Walkirk, “the book will be 
written. I shall write it. In fact, I have written a 
great part of it already.” 

“What in the name of common sense do you mean ? ” 
I cried, staring at him in astonishment. 

“What I am going to say to you,” replied Walkirk, 
“may displease you, but I earnestly hope that you 
may eventually agree with me, that what I have 
done is for the general good. You may remember 
that, when you first talked to me of your travels, you 
also handed me some of the manuscript you had pre- 
pared for the opening chapters of your book, and gave 
me an outline of the projected plan of the work. Now, 
as I have often told you, I considered the material 
341 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


for a book of travels contained in your experiences, 
as recited to me, as extremely fresh, novel, and en- 
tertaining, and would be bound to make what pub- 
lishers call a “hit ” if properly presented, but, at the 
same time, I am compelled to say that I soon became 
convinced that there was no probability that you 
would properly present your admirable subject-matter 
to the reading world.” 

“Upon my word,” said I, “this is cool ! ” 

“It is hard to speak to you in this way,” he an- 
swered, “and the only way in which I can do it is to 
be perfectly straightforward and honest about it. I 
am at heart a literary man, and have, so far as I have 
the power, cultivated the art of putting things effec- 
tively, and I assure you, sir, that it gave me actual 
pain when I found how you were going to present 
some of the incidents of your journey— such as, for 
instance, your diving experiences in the maelstrom, 
or, at least, in the place where it was supposed to be, 
and where, judging from your discoveries, it may, 
under certain conditions and to a certain extent, 
really exist. 

“There were a good many other points which, I 
believe, could be made of startling interest and value, 
not only to ordinary readers, but to scientific people, 
if they were properly brought out. I saw no reason 
that you would so bring them out, and I felt not only 
that I could do it, but that it would delight me to 
do it. 

“My feeling on the subject was so strong that, as 
you may remember, I declined to act as your secre- 
tary. I am perhaps over-sensitive, but I could not 
have written your book as you would have dictated 
342 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


it to me, and as you did indeed dictate it to yonr 
various secretaries.” 

“Go on,” I said. “I am perfectly charmed with my 
power of repressing resentment.” 

“Therefore it was,” he continued, “that I set to 
work to write the book myself, founding it entirely 
upon your daily recitals. My plan was to write as 
long as I found you were in the humor to talk, and 
in fact if you lost interest in me as a listener, I de- 
termined that I would then declare what I had done, 
show you my work, and implore you, if you felt like 
it, to give me enough subject-matter to finish it. 

“I have now stated my case, and I place it entirely 
in your hands. I will give you what I have written, 
and if you choose to read it, and do not like it, you 
can throw it into the fire. The subject-matter is 
yours, and I have no rights over it. But if you think 
that the work which you have decided to discontinue 
can be successfully carried on by me, I shall be de- 
lighted to go ahead and finish it.” 

“Walkirk,” said I, “you 'have the effrontery of a 
stone sphinx. But let me see your manuscript.” 

He handed it to me, and during the rest of the 
morning, and for a great part of the night, after I had 
returned in a late train from the city, I read it. The 
next day I gave it to him. 

“Walkirk,” said I, “as my understudy, go ahead 
and finish this book. You never came nearer the 
truth than when you said that the material is vastly 
interesting.” 

Walkirk was delighted, and took up the work with 
enthusiasm. Whenever I had a chance, I talked to 
him, and whenever he had a chance, he wrote. How- 
343 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


ever, at that time I gave so much of my business to 
my understudy that he was not able to devote him- 
self to his literary work as assiduously as he and I 
would have desired. In fact, the book is not yet fin- 
ished, but, when it appears, I think it will be a success. 


344 


CHAPTER LI 


A LOOSE END 

I was now a very happy man, but I was not an en- 
tirely satisfied one. Looking back upon what had 
happened, I could see that there were certain loose 
ends which ought to be gathered up before they were 
broken off and lost, or tangled up with something to 
which they did not belong. 

It has always been my disposition to gather up the 
loose ends— to draw together the floating strands of 
circumstance, tendency, intention, and all that sort of 
thing, so that I may see what they are, and where 
they come from. I like to know how I stand in re- 
lation to them, and how they may affect me. 

One of the present loose ends was brought to my 
mind by a conversation with Sylvia. I had been 
speaking of her cousin Marcia Raynor, and expressing 
my pleasure that she was about to enter a new life, 
to which she seemed so well adapted. 

“ Marcia is a fine woman,” she said, “and I love 
her ever so much. But, you know, she has caused me 
a great deal of pain— that she has actually made me 
cry when I was in bed at night.” 

345 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


I assured her that I had never imagined such a 
thing possible. 

“Of course,” Sylvia continued, “I do not refer to 
the way she acted just before the House of Martha 
was broken up. Then she opposed everything I 
wanted to do, and would listen to no reason. But I 
wouldn’t listen to her reasons, either, and I was en- 
tirely too angry with her to think of crying on her 
account. It was before that that she made my very 
heart sick, and all on your account.” 

“She was severe upon me, I suppose.” 

“Not a bit of it,” said Sylvia. “If she had been 
severe, I should not have minded it so much, but it 
was quite the other way. Now, just put yourself in 
my place, and try to think how you would have felt 
about it. Here was I, fixed and settled for life in the 
House of Martha, and here were you, perfectly con- 
vinced— at least, I was afraid you were convinced— 
that there was nothing for you to do but to give me 
up, and here was Marcia, just about to step out into 
the world a free woman, and, at the same time, taking 
a most wonderful interest in you, and trying to make 
you understand that you ought to let me alone, and 
all that sort of thing.” 

“In which she did not succeed at all,” I said. 

“So it appears,” said Sylvia. “But I couldn’t be 
sure about that at the time, you know, and, if she had 
succeeded, there was no earthly reason why you should 
not have become as much interested in her as she was 
in you, and then— But it’s too dreadful to talk 
about. It used to make me fairly boil.” 

“You mean to say,” said I, “that you were jealous 
of your Cousin Marcia.” 


346 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Yes,” she answered, “there is no use in calling it 
by any other name. I was jealous— savagely so some- 
times.” 

Now this was a very high compliment, and I did 
not fail to express my satisfaction at having been the 
subject of such emotions. But one of the results of 
Sylvia’s communication was to remind me of the 
existence of a loose end. I had never understood 
Mother Anastasia’s feelings toward me. It had been 
very interesting to me to make conjectures about 
those feelings, and now that I could safely do more 
than conjecture, I wished to do more, and to find out, 
if possible, if there had been any reasons for the con- 
struction I had placed upon the actions of the beauti- 
ful Mother Superior. Of course this was of no real 
importance now, but one cannot be brought into re- 
lations with such a woman as Marcia Raynor with- 
out wanting to know exactly what those relations 
are. 

I had far too much prudence, however, to talk on 
this subject with Sylvia. If I talked with any one, I 
must do it very cautiously. One morning I called 
upon Miss Laniston. That lady was informed on a 
great many points, and, moreover, was exceedingly 
free-spoken. I did not expect any direct information 
from her, but she might say something from which I 
might make inferences. 

She thought I had come to thank her for what she 
had done for me, but I assured her that this ceremony 
must be postponed for the present, for Sylvia had 
instructed me to write my gratitude in a letter, which 
she thought would be a much preferable method than 
for me to pour it out in a private interview. 

347 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“Your Sylvia seems to be a jealous little body / 7 
she remarked. 

“Oh, no , 77 said I— “although, of course, it is natural 
enough for persons in our state of mind to have ten- 
dencies that way. By the way, one of these tendencies 
on her part was rather odd. Do you know that, at 
one time, she was almost jealous of her Cousin Marcia, 
at that time a gray -bonneted sister? As you know so 
much of our affairs, I do not think I am going too far 
in telling that . 77 

Miss Laniston seemed to be considering the subject. 

“It is the commonest thing , 77 she said presently, 
“to make mistakes about matters of this sort. Now, 
for instance, I once put some questions to you which 
seemed to indicate that there might be some reason 
for Sylvia 7 s uneasiness. Didn 7 t you think they pointed 
that way ? 77 

“Yes, I did , 77 I replied. 

“And have you ever thought of it since ? 77 she 
asked. 

“Occasionally. Of course the matter is of no vital 
interest now. But, at the time you spoke of it, I 
could not help wondering if I had said or done 
anything during my rather intimate acquaintance 
with Mother Anastasia which would give you good 
cause to put the questions to which you just now 
alluded . 77 

“Well , 77 said Miss Laniston, “you seemed to me, at 
the time, to be in a decidedly unbalanced state of 
mind, but I think I acted most unwarrantably in 
speaking of Marcia as I did. In fact, I often act un- 
warrantably. It is one of my habits. And to prove 
it to you, I am going to act unwarrantably again. 

348 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Having brought the elder Miss Raynor before you in 
a way that might have led you to have undefined 
ideas about her, I am going to bring her before you 
again, in order that those ideas may be exactly de- 
fined. It is all wrong, I know, but I like to set 
things straight, whether I do it in the right way or 
wrong way. 77 

“That is exactly my disposition, 77 I replied. “I 
always want to set things straight. 77 

She left the room, and soon returned with a letter. 

“When I decide positively to do a thing, 77 she said, 
sitting down and opening the letter, “I think it just 
as well to drop apologies and excuses. You and I 
have decided that matters ought to be set straight, 
and so, here goes. Marcia has just written me a long 
letter, in which she says a good deal about you and 
Sylvia, and I am going to read you a part of it which, 
I think, will straighten out some things which I may 
have made crooked, in my efforts to do good to all 
parties concerned— a dangerous business, I may say. 

“‘It is delightful to think’— thus Marcia writes— 
‘ that Sylvia’s life is at last settled for her, and that, 
too, in the right way. Of course neither you nor I 
would be satisfied with a match like that, but Sylvia is 
not only satisfied with Mr. Yanderley, but I have no 
doubt that she will be perfectly happy with him. More 
than that, I believe she will supply his shortcomings, and 
strengthen his weaknesses, and as he has a naturally 
good disposition, and an ample fortune, I think Sylvia is 
to be sincerely congratulated. When we first spoke of 
this matter a good while ago, I thought that if the Syl- 
via- Vanderley affair could ever be arranged, it would be 
a good thing, and 1 have not changed my opinion.’ 

349 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“The rest of the letter,” said Miss Laniston, folding 
it as she spoke, “ chiefly concerns the new college, and 
I do not suppose it would interest you.” 

I agreed with her, and took my leave. The loose 
end had been gathered up. 


350 


CHAPTER LII 


J FINISH THE SICILIAN LOVE-STORY 

It might have been supposed that my little experi- 
ence in gathering up loose ends would have deterred 
me from further efforts in this direction, but it did 
not. 

I had left Miss Laniston without asking some ques- 
tions I had intended to put to her. I wished very 
much to know— I thought it was my right to know 
—something definite about the Mr. Brownson who 
had formerly been connected, so to speak, with the 
Misses Raynor. I hated this subject as I hated the 
vilest medicine, but I felt that I must get the matter 
straightened in my mind. Yet I could not say anything 
to Sylvia about it, and after what Miss Laniston had 
read to me, I could not ask her anything, even if my 
mind had been sufficiently composed to formulate 
questions. She was a very plain-spoken person— too 
much so perhaps. 

Walkirk was very different— in fact, I think he 
erred on the other side : I am sure that he would 
have liked to conceal from me anything that would 
give me pain. In the course of his life he had met a 
great many people : he might know something about 
351 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


Brownson. Anyway, I would throw out some feelers 
in that direction. 

“Yes / 7 I remarked to him, in the course of a con- 
versation about the late Mother Superior, “what she 
is going to do is a very fine thing,— a noble enter- 
prise,— and she is just the sort of person to go into it. 
But, after all, I would rather see her married to the 
right sort of man. A woman like that owes it to 
society to be married . 77 

“I fancy , 77 said Walkirk, “that she has permanently 
left the marrying class. When she broke with 
Brownson, I think she broke with marriage . 77 

“What were the points of that ? 77 I asked. “Did 
you ever happen to hear anything about him ? 77 

“I knew him very well , 77 answered Walkirk. 
“Those were his prints I was cataloguing just before 
I entered your service. He had then been dead a 
year or more, and I was working for the estate . 77 

I arose and went to the window. I wiped my fore- 
head, which had become moist. If this man had 
known Brownson, why should he not know all? Was 
he familiar with both engagements? It made me 
sick to think of it. There was no sense or reason in 
such emotion, for it was not likely that Sylvia’s en- 
gagement had been a secret one, but I had a proud 
soul, and could not bear to think that people about 
me, especially Walkirk, should be aware of Sylvia’s 
attachment, slight as it may have been, to another 
than myself. I heartily wished that I had not spoken 
of the subject. 

Still, as I had spoken of it, I might as well learn all 
that I could. 

“What sort of a man was this Brownson ? 77 I asked. 

352 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


“What reason was there that Miss Marcia Raynor 
should have cared for him*?” 

“He was a fine man/’ said Walkirk. “He was 
educated, good-looking, rich. He was young enough, 
but had been a bachelor too long, perhaps, and had 
very independent ways. It was on account of his in- 
dependence of thought, especially on religious matters, 
that he and Miss Marcia Raynor had their difficulties, 
which ended in the breaking of the engagement. I 
am quite sure that she was a good deal cut up. As I 
said before, I do not think that she will consider 
marriage again.” 

I took in a full breath of relief. Here Walkirk 
had told the little story of Brownson, and had said 
nothing of any subsequent engagement. Perhaps he 
knew of none. This thought was truly encouraging. 

“Perhaps you are right,” I said. “She may know 
better than any of us what will suit her. Anyway, I 
ought to be satisfied. And that reminds me, Walkirk, 
that I have never expressed to you, as strongly as I 
wished to do it, my appreciation of the interest you 
have taken in my varied relations with Miss Sylvia 
Raynor, and for the valuable advice and assistance 
you have given me from time to time. For instance, 
I believe that your reluctance to have me go away 
from Tangent Island was due to your discovery that 
the island belonged to Sylvia’s mother, and, therefore, 
there was some probability that she might come 
there.” 

Walkirk smiled. “You have hit the truth,” he 
said. 

“I have sometimes wondered,” I continued, “why a 
man should take so much interest in the love-affairs 
353 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


of another. When one engages an understudy, he 
does not generally expect that sort of thing.” 

“Well,” said Walkirk, “when a man engages as an 
understudy, or in a similar capacity, he often per- 
forms services, without regard to his duty and salary, 
simply because they interest and please him. Now, it 
struck me that it would be a curious bit of romantic 
realism if two beautiful women, who, on account of 
one man, had become nuns in a convent, or what was 
practically the same thing, should both be taken out 
of that convent and brought back to their true life 
in the world by another man.” 

“Two women ! ” I gasped. 

Walkirk smiled, and his voice assumed a comfort- 
ing tone. 

“Of course that sort of thing has its rough points 
for the second man, but, in this case, I do not think 
they amount to much. Brownson’s affair with the 
younger lady would have come to an end as soon as 
she had discovered the rocks in his character, but her 
mother broke it off before it came to that. But I do 
not think she would have gone into the sisterhood if 
it had not been for the man’s death very soon after 
the breaking of the engagement. This affected her 
very much, but there was no reason why it should, 
for he was killed in a railway accident, and I am 
positively certain that he would have married some 
one else if he had lived long enough.” 

I had nothing to say to all this. I walked slowly 
into my study and shut the door. Surely I had had 
enough of picking up loose ends. If there were any 
more of them, I would let them flap, dangle, float in 
the air, do what they please. I would not touch them. 

354 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


That evening I spent with Sylvia. In the course of 
our conversation she suddenly remarked : 

“Do you know, we have had so much to do, and so 
much to talk about, and so much to think about and 
plan, that I have had no chance to ask you some 
. questions that I have been thinking about. In the 
first place, I want you to tell me all about Mr. Wal- 
kirk. How long has he been with you? Are you 
always going to keep him ? What does he do ? What 
was his business before he came to you? Was he 
always an understudy for people? It has struck me 
that that would be such an odd occupation for a man 
to have. And then there is another thing— a mere 
supposition of mine, but still something that I have 
had a sort of curiosity about : Supposing that the 
House of Martha had not been broken up, and it were 
all fixed and settled that I should stay there always, 
and supposing Cousin Marcia had left us, and had 
gone into her college work, just as she is doing now- 
do you think that you would have had any desire to 
study medicine ? 

“And then there is another thing that is not a 
question, but something which I think I ought to 
tell you — something which you have a right to know 
before we are married.” 

“Sylvia,” said I, interrupting her, “let me give 
you a little piece of wisdom from my own experience : 
The gnawings of ungratified curiosity are often very 
irritating, but we should remember that the gnawings 
of gratified curiosity are frequently mangling.” 

“Indeed ! ” she exclaimed, “is that the way you look 
at it? Well, I can assure you that what I have to 
tell is of no importance at all, but if you have any- 
355 


THE HOUSE OF MARTHA 


thing to say that is mangling, I want to hear it this 
very minute.” 

“My dear Sylvia,” said I, “we have had so much to 
do, and so much to talk about, and so much to think 
about and plan, that I have had no chance to finish 
the story of Tomaso and Lucilla.” 

“That is true,” she cried, with sparkling eyes, “and, 
above all things, I want to hear the end of that story.” 

I sat by her on the sofa and finished the story of the 
Sicilian lovers. 

“In some ways,” she said, “it is very much like our 
story, isn’t it?” 

“Except,” I answered, “that the best part of ours 
is just beginning.” 


356 







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